61FT  OP 

ROB 

BELPHER. 


A 
LEVANTINE    LOG-BOOK 


By  the  Same  Author 

ARGONAUT  LETTERS.  THE  JUBILEE  PILGRIMAGE 

TO  ROME  AND  THE  "  HOLY  YEAR." 
THE  PASSION  PLAY  AT  OBERAMMERGAU. 
THE  PARIS  EXPOSITION  OF  1900. 
CONTINENTAL  SKETCHES  IN  THE  LAST  YEAR  OF 

THE  CENTURY. 

Crown  Svo.  With  sixty  full-page  half-tone  plates. 
Pages  i-xiv,  1-413,  and  Index.  Cloth,  gilt  top, 
deckle  edge. 

TWO  ARGONAUTS  IN  SPAIN.    A  VIEW  OF  PENIN- 
SULAR PEOPLE  AND  CONDITIONS  AS  THEY  APPEAR 
SINCE  THE  SPANISH-AMERICAN  WAR. 
Crown    8vo.     With    thirty-six   illustrations,   rubricated 
Title,  and  colored  map  of  Spain.    Pages  i-xii,  1-256, 
and  Index.     Cloth,  extra. 


A 

LEVANTINE 
LOG-BOOK 

BY 

JEROME    HART 


LONGMANS,  GREEN,  AND  CO 

91  AND  93  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK 

LONDON  AND  BOMBAY 


Copyright  1905  by 
JEROME  HART 

All  rights  reserved 


The  Plimpton  Press  Norwood  Mass.  U.S. A, 


MOST  POPULAR  BOOKS 
AND  BEST  SELLERS 

Every  librarian  and  every  book-seller  is  interested 
in  knowing  what  books  are  the  most  called  for  and  the 
most  read  in  libraries  and  book-stores.  The  annexed 
lists  are  taken  from  the  reports  of  the  San  Francisco 
Public  Library,  George  T.  Clark,  librarian;  the  Mer- 
cantile Library,  Frederick  J.  Smith,  librarian;  and  the 
Mechanics'  Institute  Library,  Frederick  J.  Teggart, 
librarian.  From  these  statistics  it  will  be  seen  that  the 
lists  of  most  popular  books  from  December  I,  1905,  to 
March  I,  1906,  in  San  Francisco,  as  elsewhere  in 
the  country,  have  been  made  up  principally  of  fiction. 
On  these  lists,  however,  it  will  be  observed  that  there 
figures  a  book  of  travel.  No  one  knows  better  than  the 
librarian — unless  it  be  the  book-seller — that  the  average 
book  of  travel  is  a  drug  on  the  market;  no  one  knows 
better  than  the  book-seller — unless  it  be  the  librarian — 
that  about  seven-tenths  of  the  books  usually  called  for 
are  novels.  Therefore  it  is  at  least  unusual  to  find  a 
book  of  travel  figuring  among  the  five  most  popular 
works  called  for  at  these  libraries. 

The  five  books  most  in  demand  at  the  Mercantile, 
Public,  and  Mechanics^  Libraries,  of  San  Francisco, 
during  the  periods  specified,  were  the  following : 

Week  ending December  4,  1905. 

MERCANTILE    LIBRARY. 

1.  "  The  House  of  Mirth,"  by  Edith  Wharton. 

2.  "  The  Gambler,"  by  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston. 

3.  "  Fair  Margaret,"  by  F.  Marion  Crawford. 

4.  "  The    House    of    a    Thousand     Candles,"     by     Meredith 
\~icholson. 

5.  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book,"  by  Jerome  Hart. 

Week  ending December  n,  1905. 

MECHANICS'  LIBRARY. 

1.  "  The  Gambler,"  by   Katherine  Cecil   Thurston. 

2.  "  The  House  of  Mirth,"  by  Edith  Wharton. 

3.  "  My  Friend  the  Chauffeur,"  by  C.  N.  and  A.  M.  William- 
son. 

4.  "  Man  and  Superman,"  by  G.  Bernard  Shaw. 
5-  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book,"  by  Jerome  Hart. 

I 


Week  ending December  25,  1905. 

MECHANICS'  LIBRARY. 

1.  "  The  Gambler,"  by  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston. 

2.  "  The  House  of  Mirth,"  by  Edith  Wharton. 

3.  "  Loser's  Luck,"  by  Charles  Tenney  Jackson. 

4.  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book,"  by  Jerome  Hart. 

5.  Plays,  by  G.  Bernard  Shaw. 

Week  ending December  50,  1905. 

MECHANICS'  LIBRARY. 

1.  "  The  Conquest  of  Canaan,"  by  Booth  Tarkington. 

2.  "  The  Gambler,"  by  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston. 

3.  "  The  House  of  Mirth,"  by  Edith  Wharton. 

4.  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book,"  by  Jerome  Hart. 

5.  "  The    House    of    a    Thousand    Candles,"    by    Meredith 
Nicholson. 

Week  ending January  6,  1906. 

MECHANICS'  LIBRARY. 

1.  "  The  Gambler,"  by  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston. 

2.  "  The  House  of  Mirth,"  by  Edith  Wharton. 

3.  "  Loser's  Luck,"  by  Charles  Tenney  Jackson. 

4.  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book,"  by  Jerome  Hart. 

5.  Plays,  by  G.  Bernard  Shaw. 

Week  ending January  27, 

MECHANICS'  LIBRARY. 

1.  "The  House  of  Mirth,"  by  Edith  Wharton. 

2.  "  The  Conquest  of  Canaan,"  by  Booth  Tarkington. 

3.  "  Loser's  Luck,"  by  Charles  Tenney  Jackson. 

4.  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book,"  by  Jerome  Hart. 

5.  "  Animal  Heroes,"  by  Ernest  Thompson  Seton. 

Week  ending February  j, 

PUBLIC    LIBRARY. 

i.  "  The  Gambler,"  by  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston. 
,2.  "  The    House    of    a    Thousand     Candles,"     by     Meredith 
Nicholson. 

3.  "  The  Debtor,"  by  Mary  E.  Wilkins. 

4.  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book,"  by  Jerome  Hart. 

5.  "  Salve  Venetia,"  by  F.  Marion  Crawford. 

Week  ending February  10,  1906. 

PUBLIC    LIBRARY. 

1.  "  Fair  Margaret,"  by  F.  Marion  Crawford. 

2.  "  The    House    of    a    Thousand     Candles,"     by     Mereditl 
Nicholson. 

3.  "  The  House  of  Mirth,"  by  Edith  Wharton. 

4.  "  The  Long  Day."     Anonymous. 

5.  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book,"  by  Jerome  Hart. 

2 


Week  ending February  17,  ipod. 

MECHANICS '-MERCANTILE    LIBRARY. 

1.  "The  House  of  Mirth,"  by  Edith  Wharton. 

2.  "  Hearts  and  Masks,"  by  Harold  MacGrath. 

3.  "  Loser's  Luck,"  by  Charles  Tenney  Jackson. 

4.  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book,"  by  Jerome  Hart. 

5.  "  My  Life,"  by  Alfred  Russell  Wallace. 

PUBLIC    LIBRARY. 

1.  "  On  the  Field  of  Glory,"  by  Henryk  Sienkiewicz. 

2.  "  The    House    of    a    Thousand     Candles,"     by     Meredith 
Nicholson. 

3.  "  The  Gambler,"  by  Katherine  Cecil  Thurston. 

4.  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book,"  by  Jerome  Hart. 

5.  Opera  Scores. 

Week  ending February  24,  1906. 

MECHAXICS'-MERCAXTILE     LIBRARY.       -. 

1.  "  The   House   of   Mirth,"  by   Edith   Wharton. 

2.  "  Loser's  Luck,"  by  Charles  Tenney  Jackson. 

3.  "  The    House    of    a    Thousand    Candles,"    by     Meredith 
Nicholson. 

4.  "  A   Levantine   Log-Book,"   by  Jerome   Hart. 

5.  "  My  Life,"  by  Alfred   Russell  Wallace. 

In  addition  to  these  librarians'  statistics,  taken  en- 
tirely from  readers  at  libraries,  herewith  is  annexed  a 
table  from  the  February  Bookman,  giving  a  list  of 
"  best  sellers  "  in  San  Francisco : 

Month  ending January  31,  1906. 

SAN   FRANCISCO,   CAL. 

1.  "  The  House  of  Mirth."     Wharton.     (Scribner.)     $1.50. 

2.  "  The    Conquest    of    Canaan."       Tarkington.        (Harper.) 
$1.50. 

3.  "  The  Gambler."     Thurston.     (Harper.)     $1.50. 

4.  "  Her  Letter."     Harte.     (Houghton,  Mifflin  &  Co.)    $2.00. 

5.  "  Loser's  Luck."     Jackson.     (Holt.)     $1.50. 

6.  "  A   Levantine  Log-Book."     Hart.      (Longmans,   Green  & 
Co.)     $2.00. 

In  this  table  also  it  will  be  seen  that  a  book  of  travel 
figures  among  the  "  best  sellers."  Do  you  not  think 
that  a  travel-book  which  is  popular  enough  to  hold  its 
place  among  novels  like  "  The  House  of  Mirth  "  and 
"  The  Gambler  "  for  so  many  weeks  is  worth  considera- 
tion? We  inclose  herewith  printed  matter  giving  in- 
formation concerning  the  book  in  question. 


A  Levantine  Log=Book 

By  JEROME  HART 


The  Levant  of  To-Day. 

"What  constitutes  the  Levant?"  This  is 
a  question  we  have  only  to  ask  ourselves  to 
discover  how  inaccurate  is  the  general  con- 
ception of  this  much-traveled  territory  of 
elastic  boundaries.  With  a  love  of  definite- 
ness  that  his  reader  speedily  discovers  to  be 
characteristic,  Jerome  Hart,  author  of  "  A 
Levantine  Log-Book,"  sets  himself  to  the  task 
of  dissipating  the  prevailing  mistiness  on  this 
subject. 

Mr.  Hart's  new  book  is  a  chronicle  of  leis- 
urely ramblings  over  that  alien  region  so 
much  favored  by  the  chronic  globe-trotter. 
The  author  approaches  his  subject  from  the 
standpoint  of  the  seasoned  traveler,  and 
throws  an  oar  to  intending  tourists  bewildered 
by  the  claims  of  rival  steamship  companies, 
rival  hostelries,  and  rival  resorts. 

Ruthless  he  is  in  exploding  old  travelers' 
superstitions  ;  he  waves  away  with  equal  con- 
tempt such  fetiches  as  the  "  Santa  Lucia  "  of 
Naples,  sung  by  "  risotto  tenors,  spaghetti  so- 
pranos, and  macaroni  baritones,"  and  the 
Smyrnian  figs  of  bmyrna,  which  he  declares 
to  be  so  wormy  that  they  are  able  to  walk. 

The  untraveled  reader,  whose  imagination 
surrounds  with  a  rosy  haze  all  the  immemorial 
wonders  of  the  old  world,  may  learn  with 
a  shock  of  surprise  that  Athens,  "  the  City  of 
the  Violet  Crown,"  in  its  newly  built  Occi- 
dental guise,  is  "  raw,  garish,  new,  staring, 
crude."  "  It  is  redolent  of  last  week."  "  It 
is  dusty,  it  is  noisy,  it  is  vulgar." 

From  Athens  the  expectant  reader  may  ac- 
company the  author  as  he  steams  along  the 
historic  waterway  leading  to  Constantinople. 
The  chapters  on  this  city,  beside  a  pungent 
survey  of  the  street  life  of  the  natives  of 
Stamboul,  includes  much  detailed  informa- 
tion about  the  Sultan  and  his  mode  of  life 
on  the  entrenched  Yildez  estate,  which  is 
his  favorite  dwelling-place.  There  is  a  de- 
scription, crowded  with  color  and  movement, 
of  the  day  of  the  Selamlik ;  this  is  the  day 
when  the  Sultan,  viewed  by  nobles,  official 
dignitaries,  the  Mohammedan  faithful,  and 
even  by  some  privileged  tourists,  goes 
"  circled  by  steel  "  to  pray  in  his  favorite 
mosque. 

So  much  is  Mr.  Hart  struck  by  the  eccen- 
tricities of  Oriental  dress,  and  particularly  by 
the  Turkish  "  breeks,"  that  he  devotes  a 
chapter  to  a  witty  exposition  of  that  most 
characteristic  garment  of  the  Ottoman  Turk  ; 
here  he  reviews  in  sartorial  procession 
"  the  Montenegrin  galligaskins,"  the  "  re- 
dundant Bulgarian  breeks,''  and  "  the  cheap 
hand-me-down  breeks  of  scowling,  sour-faced, 
fanatic  old  Turks."  Even  the  breeks  of  the 
Turkish  ladies  receive  a  word  of  considera- 
tion, and  the  reader  is  surprised  to  learn 
that  a  typical  Turkish  woman,  richly  clad 
as  to  her  upper  person,  declines  in  her 
nether  garments  to  "  a  pair  of  sleazy,  alpaca, 
balloon-like  trousers,  ungartered  socks,  and 
old  yellow  slippers  down  at  heel." 

The    chapter    on    shopping    will     make    the 


A  Levantine  Log-Book,  by  Jerome  Hart 


American  shopper  sit  up  and  open  eyes  of 
self-gratulation.  The  only  guarantee  the  for- 
eigner has  while  shopping  in  a  Turkish 
bazaar  (says  Mr.  Hart),  is  the  dealer's  hon- 
esty. This  he  considers  a  very  dubious  quan- 
tity. "  I  believe,"  he  says  (in  expressing  his 
conviction  that  the  majority  of  purchasers  in 
the  Orient  are  thoroughly  and  systematically 
fleeced),  "that  the  man  or  woman  who  buys 
at  home  in  the  United  States  generally  fares 
as  well — often  better — than  he  or  she  who 
buys  abroad."  An  exception  is,  of  course, 
made  in  favor  of  antiques,  intaglios,  gems, 
and  articles  that  are  unique. 

The  chapters  on  Jerusalem  are  pregnant 
with  shrewd  observations  on  the  quarreling 
religious  factions  there  domiciled.  The  au- 
thor considers  Jerusalem  "  the  Golden  "  with 
quite  a  different  meaning  to  the  one  usually 
accorded  to  that  term — his  adjective  refers 
to  the  stream  of  piously  donated  gold  that 
pours  into  Jerusalem  from  all  over  the  world, 
there  to  maintain  in  comfort  and  often  in 
luxury  many  thousands  who  piously  accept 
the  gifts  the  gods  provide. 

Toward  Cairo,  in  the  winter  season,  way- 
farers flock  by  the  thousand,  including  scores 
of  the  world's  notable  personages.  Thither 
the  author  of  the  "  Levantine  Log-Book  " 
conducts  his  readers,  giving  them  a  review 
of  the  winter  spurts  and  gayeties  of  the 
Egyptian  capital,  as  well  as  describing  the 
attractions  of  the  Nile  trip.  Mr.  Hart  is 
ever  on  the  lookout  for  what  is  ridiculous 
or  droll,  and  many  of  his  chapters  are  inter- 
spersed with  the  oddities  of  the  native  char- 
acter, and  the  eccentricities  or  asininities  of 
stray  tourists.  There  is  much  in  the  book 
which  will  thoroughly  tickle  the  reader's 
sense  of  humor. 

While  the  author  administers  many  a  shock 
to  the  untraveled,  his  vigorously  untrammeled 
views  of  men  and  things  will  gratify  those 
who  desire  to  escape  from  the  made-to-order 
lingo  of  the  professional,  stereotyped  traveler. 


Published  by  LONGMANS,  GREEN    &    CO. 
New  York,  London,  and  Bombay 


Price,  Two   Dollars  net 


SELLING  AGENTS  FOR  THE  WEST 

The  Argonaut  Publishing  Co. 

246    SUTTER   STREET 
SAN  FRANCISCO 


A  Levantine  Log=Book 

By  JEROME  HART 


FROM  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD. 
Mr.  Hart,  editor  of  the  San  Francisco 
Argonaut,  is  an  excellent  traveling  compan- 
ion, shrewd,  alert,  vigilant-eyed.  He  has  the 
peculiarly  Western  faculty  of  seeing  the  Old 
World  from  a  new  standpoint.  Americans 
from  the  Eastern  coast  have  gone  to  Europe 
or  Asia  or  Africa,  and  repeated  the  old  rap- 
tures and  the  old  insincerities.  But  born 
Westerners,  with  Mark  Twain  and  William 
D.  Howells  at  their  head,  have  generally 
dealt  honestly  with  their  own  emotions  in 
the  presence  of  the  phenomena  of  the  past, 
and  so  have  produced  an  entirely  new  school 
of  travel  literature,  which,  whatever  its  faults, 
is  at  least  distinctively  American.  In  the 
present  volume  Mr.  Hart  sees  on  the  way  all 
sorts  of  interesting  things  that  have  escaped 
the  notice  of  his  predecessors. 


FROM  THE  NEW  YORK  EVENING  POST. 
Among  the  books  recently  appearing  from 
the  pens  of  Californians  we  must  mention  "  A 
Levantine  Log-Book,"  by  Jerome  Hart.  This 
is  a  book  of  European  travel-sketches,  full  of 
sophistical  wit,  and  of  humor  tinged  with  a 
bland  cynicism  that  is  not  unpleasing.  It  is 
a  book  written  by  a  clear-visioned,  cultured, 
and  observant  man,  and  compares  not  unfa- 
vorably with  any  volume  of  its  character  that 
has  appeared  in  some  years.  It  is  in  the  vein 
of  "  Argonaut  Letters  "  and  "  Two  Argonauts 
in  Spain,"  two  books  of  travel  by  the  same 
writer,  that  preceded  it. 


FROM  THE  NEW  YORK  TIMES. 
In  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book,"  Jerome  Hart, 
author  of  "  Two  Argonauts  in  Spain  "  and 
"  Argonaut  Letters,"  has  supplied  a  somewhat 
similar  book  concerning  the  countries  about 
the  eastern  end  of  the  Mediterranean.  One 
may  gather  a  fair  idea  of  the  author's  method 
and  the  ground  covered  by  his  notes  from 
some  of  the  chapter  headings  :  "  Malta — Eng- 
land's Levantine  Fortress,"  "  Athens — the 
City  of  the  Violet  Crown,"  "  Stamboul," 
"  The  Sultan  and  the  Selamlik,"  "  The  Breeks 
of  the  Turks,"  "  Of  Smyrna  and  of  Buying 
Things,"  "  Jerusalem  the  Golden,"  "  Piety : 
Gentile,  Jewish,  Moslem,"  "  Disappointments 
in  Palestine,"  "  Cairo's  Routes  and  Inns," 
"  The  Midwinter  Crush  at  Cairo,"  "  Egyptian 
Journalism,"  "  Up  the  Nile  to  Assouan," 
"  The  Egyptians'  Foreign  Guests,"  "  England 
in  Egypt."  The  book  is  provided  with  thirty- 
six  full-page  illustrations,  and,  altogether, 
serves  to  give  a  most  pleasing  impression  of 
the  wonderful  Near  East. 


FROM  THE  LITERARY  DIGEST,  NEW  YORK. 

Jerome  Hart's  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book  "  is 
the  record  of  a  recent  visit  to  Greece,  Pales- 
tine, and  Egypt,  and  has  all  the  ease,  breezi- 
ness,  and  entertaining  information  that  won 
such  popularity  for  its  author's  earlier  travel 
sketches. 

6 


A  Levantine  Log-Book,  by  Jerome  Hart 


FROM  THE  PALL  MALL  GAZETTE. 
"  A  Levantine  Log-Book "  (Longmans,  73. 
6d.),  is  a  further  chapter  in  the  cheerful  travel- 
log  Mr.  Jerome  Hart  has  been  compiling  for 
years  for  the  behoof  of  his  readers  in  the 
Mates.  Those  of  us  here  in  England  who 
know  the  pleasant  pages  of  the  Argonaut 
have  grown  too  familiar  to  be  surprised  with 
the  freshness  and  clever  raillery  he  can  be- 
stow on  his  observations  of  Europe  and  the 
Mediterranean  lands,  the  occasional  dense- 
ness  of  the  Teuton,  the  skin-deep  polish  of  so 
many  French,  and  Italian  types,  and  the  lazy, 
enviable,  divine  content  of  the  men  and 
women  in  Spain.  In  this  volume  Mr.  Hart 
has  gone  further  afield,  for  he  potters  around 
Jerusalem  and  Jaffa,  strolls  about  Cairo  and 
Stamboul,  chaffers  with  the  rogues  and  mer- 
chants of  the  bazaars,  and  lords  it  up  the 
Nile  with  as  much  indolence  as  an  energetic 
Westerner  can  be  expected  to  do.  He  illus- 
trates freely  with  photography,  and  he  does 
justice  to  the  British  occupation  of  Egypt  and 
the  undying  memory  of  Gordon. 


FROM    THE    VEVV    YORK   WORLD. 

Jerome  Hart's  new  travel  book,  "  A 
Levantine  Log-Book,"  is  published  hand- 
somely by  Longmans,  Green  &  Co.  It  is  a 
four-hundred-page  volume,  adorned  by  forty 
illustrations,  chiefly  from  photographs  by  the 
author.  The  book  is  a  result  of  a  stay  of 
some  seasons  in  the  Levant,  whence  the 
writer  returned  in  May  of  this  year,  hence 
the  volume  is  quite  up  to  date.  In  some 
of  his  descriptions  of  conditions  in  the  Le- 
vant, notably  Egypt,  he  has  given  a  resume 
of  the  conditions  up  to  the  spring  of  1905. 

Mr.  Hart  is  one  of  the  most  agreeable 
writers  who  turns  his  pen  to  descriptive 
chronicling. 

FROM  THE  LOXDOX  BOOKSELLER. 
Mr.  Hart's  book  is  the  pictured  record  of 
recent  travel  round  the  shores  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean ;  and  if  he  chooses  to  label  the  cruise 
ts  "  Levantine  "  we  shall  not  quarrel  with 
im,  although,  geographically  speaking,  the 
term  is  of  a  narrower  extent.  Americans 
have  a  rather  affected  way  of  speaking  of  the 
East  as  the  "  Orient  "  ;  but  it  is  understood 
generally.  Mr.  Hart  made  the  entire  tour 
of  Europe's  inland  sea,  from  Gibraltar  to 
Jerusalem,  bringing  back  comments  and 
photographs  of  the  expedition,  and  putting 
down  the  salient  impressions  of  each  place  as 
they  stood  out  in  his  memory.  One  recollec- 
tion is  that  of  a  traveling  troupe  of  mounte- 
banks, who  pulled  up  and  performed  in  their 
wagon—quite  the  native  tragoidia  of  yEschy- 
lus — before  the  window  of  the  royal  palace. 
In  Jerusalem  the  abiding  impression  left  upon 
the  author's  mind  was  not  the  Holy  Sepulchre 
or  the  Mount  of  Olives  or  the  place  of  the 
Crucifixion,  but  the  sight  of  an  English  cur- 
ate playing  bridge  with  two  ladies,  and  smok- 
ing a  briar  pipe  the  while,  in  a  Jerusalem  ho- 
tel, with  a  party  of  indignant  Americans  in 
the  background.  His  story  in  Egypt,  if  not 
long,  is  at  least  complimentary  to  English 
rule. 

7 


A  Levantine  Log-Book,  by  Jerome  Hart 


FROM  THE  BROOKLYN  EAGLE. 
Jerome  Hart  has  two  gifts,  the  ability  to 
write  interestingly,  and  the  ability  to  be  in- 
terested, which  makes  the  writing  of  travel- 
books  a  pleasure.  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book  " 
is  delightful  reading. 


FROM   THE  LONDON   PUBLISHERS'   CIRCULAR. 

The  author  has  traveled  much,  has  ob- 
served to  some  purpose,  and  his  "  Log-book  " 
is  very  good  reading.  It  is  full  of  vivid  im- 
pressions and  excellent  stories,  and  if  oc- 
casionally the  fun  is  a  little  forced  we  could 
forgive  worse  sins  in  so  entertaining  a  per- 
son. There  is  nothing  stereotyped  about  Mr. 
Hart,  and  his  views  of  places  and  people  are 
often  original  and  refreshing ;  we  can,  in 
fact,  understand  and  laugh  with  him  even 
when  we  most  thoroughly  disagree  with  what 
he  says.  Whoever  takes  the  book  up  is  cer- 
tain to  enjoy  himself.  Whether  he  will  al- 
ways get  a  correct  impression  is  another  mat- 
ter. 


FROM  THE  BOSTON  HERALD. 
Jerome  Hart,  who  gave  us  that  excellent 
work  of  travel,  "  Two  Argonauts  in  Spain," 
has  extended  his  travels  further  eastward, 
and,  in  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book,"  carries  one 
on,  to,  and  through  Malta,  the  Graeco-Turkish 
peninsula,  Egypt,  and  Asia  Minor.  One  does 
not  find  here  a  description  of  a  cathedral  nor 
the  date  when  a  mosque  was  erected,  or 
anything  in  the  way  of  figures  on  the  size 
or  cost  of  what  he  sees.  It  is  the  pleasing 
tale  of  a  good  story-teller,  who  starts  out  to 
see  things,  who  does  see  things,  and  who, 
having  seen  them,  knows  how  to  make  his 
story  picturesque  by  sprinkling  in  incident 
and  adventure  with  clever  observation. 


FROM    THE    SPRINGFIELD    REPUBLICAN. 

Any  book  of  travel  that  bears  the  signature 
of  Jerome  Hart,  editor  of  the  San  Francisco 
Argonaut,  may  be  taken  up  with  confidence  ; 
if  not  at  hand  it  should  be  sought  for.  Mr. 
Hart  is  a  man  of  varied  and  interesting 
knowledge  and  any  amount  of  common  sense. 
He  is  a  trained  journalist,  and  sees  everything 
in  relation  to  its  news  value.  He  is  an  un- 
compromising American,  and  he  does  not  for 
a  minute  forget  the  American  point  of  view. 
Temperamentally  averse  to  slush  and  pre- 
tense, he  never  loses  the  chance  to  dispose 
of  a  hoary  fiction  or  a  cherished  convention, 
and  get  down  to  facts.  He  is  nothing  if  not 
up  to  date.  It  is  his  special  business  to  de- 
scribe things  as  they  are — or,  rather,  as  the 
average  tourist  sees  them. 

In  all  these  respects,  his  new  volume,  "  A 
Levantine  Log-Book,"  published  by  Long- 
mans, Green  &  Co.,  is  quite  up  to  the  stand- 
ard of  his  "  Argonaut  Letters  "  and  "  Two 
Argonauts  in  Spain."  The  ground  is  beaten 
hard  by  the  feet  of  tourists,  but  he  manages 
to  find  something  fresh  to  say.  His  fondness 
for  the  actual,  for  the  definite,  is  marked  by 
his  initial  struggle  with  the  term  Levant  and 
the  arbitrary  lines  that  define  it. 

Mr.  Hart's  book  is  of  an  unpretentious  sort. 
It  has  value,  and  it  affords  entertaining  read- 

8 


A  Levantine  Log-Book,  by  Jerome  Hart 


FROM  THE  LONDON  ACADEMY. 
Mr.  Jerome  Hart  has  managed  to  get  so  into 
touch  with  his  subject  that  although  he  covers 
much  ground  in  one  short  volume,  never  for 
one  moment  do  we  feel  that  we  are  globe- 
trotting when  in  his  company.  This  vol- 
ume will  be  as  much  appreciated  in  England 
as  by  the  author's  many  friends  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Atlantic. 


FROM   THE  SAN   FRANCISCO  CHRONICLE. 

"  A  Levantine  Log-Book  "  is  the  third  of 
Jerome  Hart's  books  of  travel,  issued  in 
handsome  style,  with  a  very  striking  cover 
and  many  beautiful  illustrations,  by  Long- 
mans, Green  &  Co.  In  the  twenty-two  chap- 
ters Mr.  Hart  discusses  in  leisurely  and  en- 
tertaining fashion  the  features  of  the  Levant, 
from  Malta  around  the  Mediterranean  shore 
to  Egypt  and  the  upper  Nile.  What  makes 
this  book  as  readable  as  its  predecessors  is 
the  author's  original  point  of  view  and  his 
absolute  lack  of  pretense.  Mark  Twain  first 
made  a  holy  show  of  the  stereotyped  book 
of  travels,  but  even  his  savage  satire  did  not 
cure  the  scribbling  tourist  of  the  vice  of 
gushing  over  the  things  that  it  is  the  fashion 
to  rave  over.  Mr.  Hart  is  absolutely  real- 
istic. If  he  finds  a  famous  river  or  an  his- 
torical building  or  a  celebrated  picture  ugly, 
he  says  so  frankly,  but  he  often  points  out 
that  first  impressions,  especially  of  large  cities, 
are  apt  to  be  misleading,  and  that  closer 
knowledge  will  frequently  reveal  unsuspected 
beauties. 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  chief  merit  of 
Mr.  Hart's  book  is  its  straightforward  honesty 
and  its  genuine  humor.  As  a  traveler  he  has 
the  American  newspaper  man's  eye — nothing 
escapes  him,  and  he  has  also  another  faculty 
of  the  trained  observer — no  good  story,  no 
peculiar  exhibit  of  real  human  nature  is 
forgotten.  The  pestiferous  beggars  and  touts 
who  make  life  a  burden  for  the  average  tour- 
ist simply  furnish  him  with  amusing  studies 
of  character.  Nothing  could  be  better  than 
his  sketch  of  the  handsome  Italian  boy  who 
tried  to  foist  himself  on  the  tourists  as  they 
went  up  the  slopes  of  Vesuvius,  and  who 
hung  like  a  leech  to  a  party  of  Chicago  mill- 
ionaires and  ultimately  secured  five  francs 
for  his  pertinacity.  Or,  in  another  vein,  take 
the  Turkish  railway  official  between  Jaffa  and 
Jerusalem,  who  actually  had  the  last  word  in 
an  encounter  with  a  strong-minded  American 
woman.  Some  of  the  best  work  in  the  book 
is  found  in  the  chapters  on  Egypt,  a  land 
that  is  full  of  the  charm  that  belongs  to  the 
alien  and  the  mysterious.  Very  striking  is 
his  word  picture  of  Slatin  Pasha,  the  man 
who  changed  his  religion  and  profited  by  it, 
and  the  contrasting  picture"  of  Gordon,  who 
went  down  to  a  cruel  death  because  he  would 
not  abandon  the  people  of  Khartoum. 


FROM  THE  OUTLOOK. 
In   "  A   Levantine   Log-Book  "  Jerome   Hart 

S'ves   a  gossipy,   vivacious   account   of  travel, 
e     takes     the     reader     to      Constantinople, 
Smyrna,  Jerusalem,  Cairo,  and  up  the  Nile  to 
Assuan. 


A  Levantine  Log-Book,  by  Jerome  Hart 


FROM  THE  BOSTON  TRANSCRIPT. 
Jerome  Hart,  the  author  of  "  A  Levantine 
Log-Book,"  is  an  experienced  globe-trotter, 
and  makes  the  most  of  his  opportunities.  His 
story  contains  many  interesting  things  which 
are  well  worth  reading.  He  writes  an  amus- 
ing chapter  on  Egyptian  newspapers.  He 
vigorously  defends  the  policy  of  the  British 
in  Egypt ;  although  he  had  previously  believed 
that  the  British  occupation  was  a  long-con- 
sidered and  deliberate  plan,  he  now  shows 
many  attempts  of  the  English  to  avoid  the 
Egyptian  entanglements.  This  discussion  is 
the  one  serious  phase  of  the  story.  On  the 
whole,  Mr.  Hart  is  to  be  congratulated — he 
has  written  something  new  about  the  Levant. 


FROM  THE  SAN  FRANCISCO  CALL. 
Jerome  Hart  has  written  a  new  volume  to 
add  to  his  series  of  travel-books,  "  A  Levan- 
tine Log-Book."  Added  to  the  interesting  de- 
scriptions, there  is  much  of  quiet  humorous 
chat  about  those  far  and  famous  lands  so 
many  people  hear  about  and  so  few  are  privi- 
leged to  see.  There  is  some  enthusiasm  in 
the  book,  but  perhaps  more  in  evidence  is 
the  disillusion  due  to  a  bent  for  telling  the 
plain  truth  about  things  as  they  are.  A  no- 
table item  of  observation  the  author  made  in 
Egypt  is  that  the  boasted  coming  brotherhood 
of  man  seems  very  far  off,  and  Hart  doubts 
if  it-  will  ever  come.  The  people  of  various 
nationalities  in  Egypt,  even  such  enlightened 
people  as  Germans,  English,  and  French,  dis- 
like each  other  so  heartily  that  the  brother- 
hood of  man  seems  actually  to  be  getting  far- 
ther away  from  fulfillment.  If,  when  you  be- 
fin  to  read  this  book,  you  are  surprised  not  to 
nd  more  enthusiasm,  here  is  a  hint  for  its 
reason  of  not  being.  This  traveler  has  evi- 
dently grown  tired  of  perfervid  eloquence.  He 
has  heard  it  to  satiety. 


FROM    COOK'S    TRAVELLER'S    GAZETTE. 

"  A  Levantine  Log-Book  "  is  a  most  enter- 
taining volume.  This  would  be  expected  from 
the  author  of  "  Argonaut  Letters  "  and  "  Two 
Argonauts  in  Spain."  There  is  a  vein  of 
spontaneous  humor  in  this  book  that  makes 
it  very  agreeable  reading.  It  is  a  book  that 
every  prospective  visitor  to  these  fascinating 
Mediterranean  regions  should  certainly  read. 
Of  course,  it  is  not  necessary  to  its  enjoy- 
ment that  one  should  have  an  Eastern  trip 
in  mind ;  the  general  reader  will  find  the 
book  and  its  excellent  pictures  a  most  inter- 
esting one  ;  but  our  point  of  view  is  naturally 
that  of  the  travel  expert. 

Mr.  Hart  frankly  tells  of  his  disappoint- 
ments, even  when  they  concern  places  and 
things  popularly  accorded  unquestioning  ad- 
miration or  homage.  The  reader  consequently 
feels  confidence  in  his  observations  and  im- 
pressions. His  observations  of  men  and  man- 
ners are  critical,  but  not  captious.  He  shows 
a  kindly  appreciation  of  the  little  failings  of 
human  nature.  His  descriptions  of  the  fa- 
mous scenic  and  historic  attractions  with 
which  the  route  abounds  are  those  of  an  ex- 
perienced traveler  and  writer,  graphic  and  in- 
teresting. 

10 


A  Levantine  Log-Book,  by  Jerome  Hart 


FROM  THE  BOSTON  COURIER. 
It  is  a  pleasure  to  be  able  to  read  the  "  log- 
book "  of  a  traveler  who  has  done  some  drift- 
ing about  in  the  Levant  without  prejudices 
or  superstitions,  religious  or  otherwise. 
Jerome  Hart,  the  author  of  this  book,  has  had 
an  abundant  experience  in  the  East,  suffi- 
cient to  awaken  the  interest  of  those  who 
have  become  jaded  with  books  of  travel  of 
the  hackneyed  sort — those  of  mere  onlookers 
who  have  taken  the  whole  thing  for  granted, 
and  have  had  no  desire  to  think  or  write 
from  their  own  standpoint.  This  book  is 
the  outpouring  of  the  spirit  of  one  whose 
eyes  have  not  been  blinded  by  pretense  or 
fable,  and  who  has  studied  his  paths  with 
a  cynic  at  his  elbow,  maybe,  but  nevertheless 
with  a  modicum  of  common  sense  in  the 
manner  and  the  mood  of  his  narration.  He 
looks  upon  life  in  the  Levant  as  it  actually 
is,  and  he  lays  aside  sentimental  poetry  for 
the  sake  of  telling  the  practical  thus  and 
so  of  the  Eastern  World,  as  he  himself  dis- 
covers it.  He  is  always  struck  with  the 
ridiculousness  of  the  pretensions  of  the  East, 
and  he  relates  it  in  a  way  that  is  likely  to 
upset  the  gravity  of  the  most  strait-laced. 
His  fun  is  catching.  There  is  not  a  page 
in  the  whole  book  that  is  dry,  and  it  is  with 
an  inward  sigh  of  regret  that  one  arrives  at 
the  last  chapter. 

FROM  THE  PROVIDENCE  JOURNAL. 
People  who  have  read  any  of  Mr.  Hart's 
previous  books  of  travel  will  not  need  to  be 
told  that  this,  his  latest  contribution  to  the 
gayety  of  nations,  is  a  delightfully  amusing 
volume.  Mr.  Hart's  humor  may  be  somewhat 
American,  but  it  is  delicious  of  its  kind.  His 
style  is  thoroughly  individual ;  racy  and  pun- 
gent always,  it  is  filled  with  irresistibly  laugh- 
able descriptions  and  anecdotes  of  men  and 
things  told  in  an  inimitable  fashion.  Any  one 
who  has  enjoyed  "  Two  Argonauts  in  ^Spain  " 
will  be  sure  to  remember  Mr.  Hart's  most 
amusing  sketch  of  the  American  tourist.  There 
are  more  such  tourists  in  the  "  Levantine  Log- 
Book,"  notably  one  in  Rome,  who  was  deeply 
aggrieved  because  in  an  Italian  guide-book  he 
found  the  Colosseum  called  "  Anfiteatro 
Flaviano  "  instead  of  by  what  he  deemed  its 
"  c'rect  name."  Or,  again,  Mr.  Hart's  sense 
of  the  ludicrous  is  excited  by  the  absurd  al- 
bum for  the  autographs  of  visitors  kept  in  the 
inn  on  Mount  Vesuvius,  a  volume  in  which 
"  nobodies  have  written  nothings — ;  Thoughts 
on  First  Seeing  Vesuvius,'  by  Mrs.  Lemuel 
Aminadab  Doolittle,  Moosatockaguntic,  Maine, 
U.  S.  A.,  or  '  Pensees  Sur  la  Baie  de  Naples,' 
par  Jeanne  Grosille  Poirier,  en  voyages  de 
noces  avec  son  cher  mari,  Hector  Achille 
Poirier,  epicier  en  gros,  Pont-a-Mousson, 
France.'  "  The  "  Choo-Choo  family  "  whom 
•  he  encountered  in  Naples  are  other  typical 
"  trippers."  Mr.  Hart  is  always  frank  in  the 
expression  of  his  opinions  ;  therein  lies  much 
of  the  attractiveness  of  his  books.  He  did 
not  like  Athens,  for  example,  and  he  does  not 
hesitate  to  say  so.  [Some  lengthy  extracts 
'  follow.]  This  is  one  of  the  books  which 
lend  themselves  to  indefinite  quotation,  and 
it  is  hard  to  refrain. 

II 


A  Levantine  Log-Book,  by  Jerome  Hart 


FROM  THE  WASHINGTON  STAR. 
In  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book  "  Jerome  Hart 
journeys  from  Malta  to  the  Grseco-Turkish 
peninsula,  to  Syria,  to  Asia  Minor,  and  to 
Egypt.  He  journeys  without  special  purpose, 
but  chats  familiarly  with  his  reader  about  the 
people  he  meets  and  the  things  he  sees.  He 
views  the  panorama  with  the  eye  of  the 
familiar  voyager,  but  not  as  one  sated  with 
the  spectacle.  All  is  delightful  and  new,  even 
the  very  ancient.  He  sees  the  comic  side 
of  life,  and  tells  many  a  good  story  with  ap- 
preciation of  the  subtleties  of  humor.  Mr. 
Hart  is  an  accomplished  traveler.  The  pic- 
tures with  which  the  "  Log-Book  "  is  gener- 
ously illustrated  are  evidently,  many  of  them, 
the  product  of  his  camera. 

FROM  THE  MEXICAN  HERALD. 

Whether  one  has  traveled  much  or  little, 
there  is  a  unique  enjoyment  in  reading  a  book 
of  travel  in  a  foreign  land.  But  it  does  de- 
pend on  the  book,  however.  There  is  this 
enjoyment  in  reading  Jerome  Hart's  "  A 
Levantine  Log-Book."  Mr.  Hart  is  the  editor 
of  the  San  Francisco  Argonaut,  a  delightful 
weekly. 

Mr.  Hart  has  been  an  extensive  traveler, 
and  his  "  Argonaut  Letters  "  and  "  Two  Argo- 
nauts in  Spain  "  have  given  him  a  high  place 
among  the  writers  of  books  of  travel.  In 
the  "  Levantine  Log-Book "  he  handles  his 
subject  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  old 
traveler  who  has  not  yet  forgotten  how  to 
appreciate,  but  who  has  seen  enough  to  have 
more  than  a  guide-book  sense  of  values. 
But  if  his  comments  on  things  are  a  trifle 
hard  on  the  "  gusher "  and  the  professional 
tourist,  he  says  some  fine  things  of  the  sights 
that  are  worth  while.  The  book  is  written  in 
delightful  style,  and  has  all  the  charm  of  the 
personal  viewpoint. 

Mr.  Hart  begins  with  Naples,  and  travels 
eastward,  touching  at  Athens,  Constantinople, 
Smyrna,  Jaffa,  Jerusalem,  and  Cairo,  and 
with  a  trip  up  the  Nile  concludes  the  book, 
which  has  kept  the  reader  interested  from  the 
first.  His  comments  are  far  from  the  stereo- 
typed travel-book.  He  tells  just  enough,  and, 
with  many  blessings  from  his  readers,  not 
too  much.  At  Cairo  he  almost  forgets  the 
pyramids  while  he  tells  most  entertainingly 
of  the  newspapers  of  the  Egyptian  capital. 

The  author  is  facetious  to  a  degree — enough 
to  make  his  pages  entertaining,  but  there  is 
a  vast  fund  of  valuable  information  in  the 
book.  It  has  a  worthy  description  of  the 
ruins  of  Egypt,  and  closes  with  a  splendid 
peroration  on  their  beauties  and  their  wonder. 
The  description  of  the  holy  shrines  of 
Jerusalem  is  full  of  "  color  "  and  real  beauty. 
The  comparison  of  the  various  foreign  col- 
onies in  Cairo,  and  their  attitude  toward  each 
other,  will  furnish  interesting  reading.  The 
book  also  contains  a  highly  interesting  chapter 
on  England's  struggle  to  keep  out  of  Egypt. 

Mr.  Hart  writes  with  ease  and  grace,  with 
rare  precision  and  beauty  of  diction.  His 
book  is  one  of  the  best  of  current  books. 
There  is  always  room  for  a  delightful  book 
of  travel,  and  Mr.  Hart's  works  always  stand 
high  for  their  originality  of  viewpoint  and 
their  delightful  English. 
12 


A  Levantine  Log-Book,  by  Jerome  Hart 


FROM    THE   SAN    FRANCISCO   WASP. 

"  A  Levantine  Log-Book  "  is  the  latest  book 
of  travel  from  the  facile  pen  of  Jerome  Hart, 
the  much-traveled  and  highly  cultured  editor 
of  the  San  Francisco  Argonaut,  published  by 
Longmans,  Green  &  Co.  This  book  is  another 
of  the  series  of  travel  sketches  which  Mr. 
Hart  has  written ;  the  two  previous  volumes 
being  "  Argonaut  Letters  "  and  "  Two  Argo- 
nauts in  Spain."  In  some  of  his  discussions 
of  conditions  in  the  Levant,  notably  in  Egypt, 
the  author  has  given  a  resume  of  the  condi- 
tions up  to  the  spring  of  this  year.  This  will 
be  noticed  particularly  in  regard  to  the  great 
irrigation  schemes  which  England  is  now  so 
successfully  carrying  on  in  Egypt.  The  writer 
even  gives  the  results  of  the  recent  investi- 
gations (February,  1905)  of  Sir  William  Gar- 
stin  and  Sir  Benjamin  Baker  into  the  sta- 
bility of  the  Assouan  dam. 

Mr.  Hart  is  a  keen  observer  of  current 
events.  He  possesses  that  very  valuable  qual- 
ity in  the  traveler  who  wishes  to  benefit  others 
who  may  consult  his  book  for  guidance — of 
investing  his  descriptions  with  a  live  human 
interest  of  a  practical  character. 

\Ve  are  never  tired  of  reading  about  the 
East.  Baker,  Dean  Stanley,  Humphrey  Davy 
— all  have  their  charm  as  writers.  We  would 
even  make  it  our  duty  to  hear  Haskett  Smith, 
who  discourses  learnedly  and  eloquently  on 
the  Rosetta  Stone,  "  the  street  that  is  called 
straight  "  in  Damascus,  or  the  Real  Tomb 
of  Jesus.  But  we  do  not  find  in  the  writers 
mentioned  the  breeziness  and  brightness,  the 
pleasant,  entertaining,  and  instructive  talk  of 
Mr.  Hart.  Comparisons  are  not  always  in 
good  taste,  but  were  we  to  venture  'on  such 
a  hazardous  experiment  we  would  certainly 
class  Mr.  Hart,  as  a  writer  on  travel,  with 
Charles  Dudley  Warner.  Higher  praise  it 
would  be  difficult  to  give  to  an  American 
writer,  and  San  Franciscans  may  well  be 
proud  of  having  Jerome  Hart  as  their  fellow- 
citizen. 


FROM  THE  BROOKLYN  TIMES. 
In  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book,"  Mr.  Hart 
writes  in  sprightly  and  vivacious  fashion  of 
his  travels  in  the  Levant,  after  jocosely  de- 
fining the  territory  included  in  that  very 
elastic  term.  Mr.  Hart  is  not  the  conven- 
tional traveler,  with  conventional  raptures 
and  pages  of  cut-and-dried  information.  He 
has  no  illusions  and  no  cant.  He  is  amusing, 
and  is  not  without  originality.  In  this  new 
book  he  chats  with  brisk  informality  of  one 
phase  of  travel,  follows  this  with  an  anecdote, 
and  a  bit  of  picturesque  description  or  com- 
ment on  men,  manners,  or  customs. 


FROM  THE  CLEVELAND  PLAIN  DEALER. 
Jerome  Hart,  the  California  traveler  in  the 
Old  World,  whose  breezy  ''  Argonaut  Let- 
ters "  and  "  Two  Argonauts  in  Spain  "  were 
refreshing  departures  from  the  customary 
"travel  books,"  comes  now  with  ''A  Levan- 
tine Log-Book."  Everything  he  saw  he  de- 
scribes in  racy,  unconventional  style. 

13 


A  Levantine  Log-Book,  by  Jerome  Hart 


FROM  THE  CHICAGO  TRIBUNE. 
"  A  Levantine  Log-Book "  is  a  handsome 
and  profusely  illustrated  volume,  in  which 
the  author,  Jerome  Hart,  gives  a  breezy, 
chatty  narrative  of  his  journeys  in  the  Levant. 
He  writes  as  if  he  enjoyed  writing,  and  the 
reader  will  find  the  enjoyment  contagious. 
He  is  unavoidably  compelled  to  chronicle 
many  facts  pertaining  to  history  and  bio- 
graphy, but  he  is  at  his  best  in  describing  peoj 
pie,  and  this  he  does  with  a  free  hand.  He 
brings  them  vividly  before  your  eyes  in  an 
easy  and  unconventional  way. 


FROM  THE  CHICAGO  RECORD-HERALD. 
"  A  Levantine  Log-Book,"  by  Jerome  Hart, 
editor  of  the  San  Francisco  Argonaut,  will 
charm  those  who  like  their  dry  travel  facts 
entertainingly  stated.  The  author  has  the 
courage  of  his  convictions,  and  refuses  to 
"  rave  to  order  "  over  scenes  and  places  not 
to  him  particularly  impressive.  This  writer 
has  a  clever  knack  at  grasping  and  pic- 
turesquely presenting  just  the  salient  or  char- 
acteristic facts  most  enjoyable  to  the  general 
reader.  Of  solid  information  there  is  a 
plentiful  variety,  and  the  opening  discussion 
of  the  Levant  and  its  mysterious  boundaries 
is  specially  worthy  of  note.  Here,  in  a  word, 
is  a  book  that  brings  the  Eastern  Mediter- 
ranean peoples  and  countries  within  easy 
speaking  distance,  written  in  a  style  simple, 
easy,  now  and  then  colloquial,  that  strength- 
ens the  sense  of  intimate  acquaintance.  Travel 
routes  and  fifty  photographic  illustrations  by 
the  author  and  others,  with  striking  pen  por- 
traits of  certain  famous  people,  completes  an 
absorbing  whole.  Read  Mr.  Hart's  delightful 
book. 


FROM  SAN  FRANCISCO  TOWN  TALK. 
In  his  third  series  of  travel-letters  Mr. 
Hart  does  not  waste  any  of  his  own  time 
nor  his  reader's  patience  in  describing  set 
pieces.  He  frankly  admits  his  inability  to 
"  rave  to  order,"  as  well  as  his  dislike  for 
crawling  into  holes  in  the  ground  for  no 
other  reason  than  that  they  are  traditionally 
credited  with  being  the  precise  spot  where 
some  miraculous  occurrence  took  place.  He 
has  no  great  faith  in  "  spots  where,"  and 
seems  to  be  of  the  opinion  that  even  though 
they  should  be  beyond  question  what  they 
are  represented,  they  do  not  justify  all  the 
fuss  made  about  them.  He  must  be  the  de- 
spair of  guides  and  couriers,  and  yet  he  is 
not  to  be  classed  among  the  venturesome 
idiots  who  delight  in  defying  conventions  and 
endangering  the  safety  of  themselves  and 
their  companions.  In  short,  he  is  an  experi- 
enced traveler  with  a  definite  idea  of  what 
is  worth  doing  and  seeing,  and  a  mind  un- 
clouded by  the  demands  of  tradition. 

FROM  THE  ST.  Louis  REPUBLIC. 
"  A  Levantine  Log-Book,"  by  Jerome  Hart, 
is  an  attractive  travelogue,  if  we  may  borrow 
Burton  Holmes's  word,  through  Italy,  Greece, 
European  Turkey,  Sicily,  Crete,  Cyprus, 
Malta,  the  coast  of  Turkey,  and  Asia  Minor. 
Jerome  Hart  is  an  accomplished  traveler,  and 
a  good  hand  at  telling  about  it. 

14 


A  Levantine  Log-Book,  by  Jerome  Hart 


FROM    THE    ST.    Louis    GLOBE-DEMOCRAT. 

"  A  Levantine  Log-Book  "  is  the  latest  book 
of  travel  by  an  author  who  has  written  much 
in  the  same  field  and  always  with  excellent 
results.  Mr.  Hart's  "  Two  Argonauts  in 
Spain  "  will  be  recalled  as  one  of  the  most  ac- 
ceptable travel-books  of  last  year,  and  he  has 
contributed  other  worthy  studies  of  the  in- 
stitutions and  customs  of  foreign  lands.  The 
Levantine  trip  has  been  made  often  by  obser- 
vant writers,  but  Mr.  Hart  has  a  happy  knack 
of  seeing  things  that  many  others  overlook. 
The  new  volume  is  enriched  with  scores  of 
pictures  which  are  of  rare  excellence,  and  the 
text  never  fails  to  be  entertaining. 


FROM  THE  BUFFALO  NEWS. 
"  A  Levantine  Log-Book  "  is  another  of  the 
lively  travel-sketches  by  Jerome  Hart,  author 
of  "  Argonaut  Letters  "  and  "  Two  Argonauts 
in  Spain."  In  it  the  author  discusses  condi- 
tions in  the  Levant,  particularly  in  Egypt,  al- 
though much  space  has  been  given  to  the 
Holy  Land.  The  book  contains  some  good 
advice  for  travelers,  and  is  full  of  bright 
stories  and  recollections  of  interesting  scenes. 
This  "  Log-Book "  is  by  no  means  of  the 
guide-book  order.  The  scene  when  the  Sul- 
tan goes  to  prayer  and  the  incidents  of  that 
curious  ceremony  are  told  with  much  vivid- 
ness and  humor,  from  the  antics  and  com- 
ments of  European  tourists  to  the  scores  of 
fat  pashas  running  after  the  Sultan's  carriage. 
The  volume  is  copiously  illustrated  and  very 
handsomely  printed  and  bound. 


FROM  THE  CHICAGO  ,EVENING  POST. 
"  A  Levantine  Log-Book,"  by  Jerome  Hart, 
is  a  collection  of  unusually  spicy  and  read- 
able sketches  of  travel.  It  is  given  up  to  the 
writer's  personal  experiences  in  many  Levan- 
tine cities.  Mr.  Hart's  style  is  informal  and 
very  sprightly,  with  a  touch  of  genial  satire. 
There  seem  to  be  no  dull  moments  in  his 
travels.  If  the  sights  are  hackneyed  or  the 
weather  bad,  he  is  sure  to  fall  in  with  a  party 
of  diverting  American  tourists,  who  amuse 
the  reader  until  dull  times  are  past.  His  im- 
pressions always  seem  to  be  particularly  clear- 
cut  and  definite,  and  he  never  lacks  ability 
to  impart  them  vividly  to  his  readers.  Mr. 
Hart's  lively  reminiscences  are  illustrated 
with  photographs,  most  of  which  he  took  him- 
self. The  book  is  handsomely  and  appro- 
priately bound. 


FROM  THE  HARTFORD  COURAXT. 
Mr.  Hart's  felicity  in  making  familiar  the 
scenes  of  his  travel  has  been  exhibited  in 
his  ''  Argonaut  Letters,"  and  is  continued  in 
"  A  Levantine  Log-Book."  If  his  eyes  and 
ears  have  been  too  eagerly  open  to  catch  ec- 
centricities of  American  cities  and  people,  and 
his  readiness  to  contrast  them  with  the  older 
traits  of  the  Eastern  Mediterranean  is  in- 
dulged a  little  too  superciliously,  he  gets  some 
vivid  contrasts  for  his  effects,  and  he  sets 
before  us  a  graphic  picture  of  the  Nearer 
East. 

15 


A  Levantine  Log-Book,  by  Jerome  Hart 


FROM   THE   SAN   FRANCISCO   EXAMINER. 

The  traveler  in  foreign  lands  raves  to  or- 
der. He  becomes  enthusiastic  when  he  thinks 
it's  proper,  not  when  he  really  feels  like  it. 
The  average  writer  of  travel  has  much  in 
common  with  the  average  traveler ;  he  raves 
where  others  have  raved  before  him,  fearing 
to  give  voice  to  his  private  opinions  lest  he 
come  under  the  dreadful  charge  of  iconoclasm. 
Although  the  romantic  side  in  books  of  travel 
must  always  strongly  appeal  to  those  who 
read  them,  it  is  somewhat  of  a  relief  now 
and  then  to  read  the  work  of  a  man  who  tells 
the  blunt  truth  concerning  things  about  which 
we  have  formed  some  of  our  choicest  illusions. 
From  Gautier  to  Jerome  Hart  there  is  the  big 
jump  from  the  man  who  forms  illusions  to  the 
man  who  sweeps  them  away.  This  review  con- 
cerns Jerome  Hart.  The  "  Levantine  Log- 
Book  "  is  an  exceptionally  well-told  tale  of 
travel  through  the  Levant,  that  land  of  in- 
definite boundary.  While  there  are  facts  and 
figures  to  aid  the  prospective  traveler,  these 
in  no  way  detract  from  the  value  of  the  book 
for  the  stay-at-home  reader.  The  volume  is 
full  of  witty  anecdotes  of  travel,  which  have 
their  instructive  side.  Some  history,  but  not 
too  much,  good  and  common-sense  descrip- 
tions, and  numerous  illustrations  all  go  to 
make  the  book  one  among  the  many  stories 
of  travel  worth  reading. 


FROM  THE  ALBANY  JOURNAL. 

"  A  Levantine  Log-Book  "  is  another  of  the 
series  of  travel  sketches  which  Jerome  Hart 
has  written — "  Argonaut  Letters  "  and  "  Two 
Argonauts  in  Spain."  This  book  is  the  re- 
sult of  a  stay  of  two  seasons  in  the  Levant. 

The  book  begins  with  a  discussion  as  to 
the  boundaries  of  the  Levant.  The  writer 
admits  the  difficulty  of  defining  them,  but 
finally  hits  upon  a  plan  which  is  interesting, 
if  not  conclusive.  His  definition  of  the  Le- 
vant includes  practically  all  that  portion  of 
the  Mediterranean  coasts  where  Mohamme- 
dan supremacy  has  left  its  marks. 

In  the  introductory  chapters  are  given  some 
useful  particulars  for  Levantine  travelers  as 
to  choice  of  routes  and  steamship  lines. 

One  of  the  most  amusing  chapters  is  en- 
titled "  The  Breeks  of  the  Turks."  This  de- 
scribes the  remarkable  variety  of  nether  gar- 
ments seen  in  the  Sultan's  capital. 

The  writer  begins  his  chapters  on  Jeru- 
salem by  calling  it  "  Jerusalem  ,the  Golden," 
for  the  reason  that  a  golden  stream  pours 
into  it  from  all  over  the  world  to  support  the 
idle  Christians  and  Jews  in  comfort  and 
luxury. 

The  book  contains  over  forty  pictures,  and 
is  very  handsomely  printed  and  bound. 


FROM  THE  BALTIMORE  AMERICAN. 
"  A  Levantine  Log-Book,"  by  Jerome  Hart, 
is  a  work  of  four  hundred  pages,  containing 
over  forty  illustrations.  The  descriptions  of 
the  various  places  visited  are  brightened  by 
occasional  flashes  of  wit.  The  book  as  a 
whole  is  exceedingly  interesting  reading. 

16 


A  Levantine  Log-Book,  by  Jerome  Hart 


FROM  THE  CHICAGO  INTER-OCEAN. 
A  very  interesting,  entertaining,  and  instruc- 
tive volume  of  travel  is  "  A  Levantine  Log- 
Book,"  by  Jerome  Hart,  author  of  several 
books  of  travel.  It  discusses  most  of  the 
Levantine  cities,  giving  much  of  its  space  to 
the  Holy  Land  and  Egypt.  The  chapters 
on  the  remarkable  climatic  changes  in  Egypt, 
resulting  from  the  great  irrigation  schemes, 
are  very  striking.  This  is  a  book  of  intelli- 
gent observation  by  a  wide-awake  American, 
who  is  also  a  trained  newspaper  man,  there- 
fore it  is  needless  to  say  anything  of  its  hu- 
mor and  entertainment.  The  volume  contains 
nearly  fifty  half-tone  pictures,  and  is  very 
handsomely  printed  and  bound. 


FROM    THE    PlTTSBURG    GAZETTE. 

Mr.  Hart — who  is  editor  of  the  San  Fran- 
cisco Argonaut  —  wrote  that  most  readable 
chronicle  of  "  Two  Argonauts  in  Spain,"  and 
has  now  gone  to  the  other  end  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean, to  the  lands  "  where  Delos  rose  and 
Phoebus  sprung,"  where  now  the  Sultan  squats 
like  an  ugly  spider  until  the  broom  of  the 
Powers  shall  dislodge  him.  The  happy  style 
and  humorous  perception  of  Mr.  Hart  are 
admirably  reflected  in  his  new  volume,  "  A 
Levantine  Log-Book." 


FROM  THE  LOUISVILLE  COURIER-JOURNAL. 

"  A  Levantine  Log-Book,"  by  Jerome  Hart, 
is  written  in  a  light,  colloquial — sometimes  too 
colloquial — style.  Yet  the  author  covers  a 
great  variety  of  subjects — the  social,  artistic, 
and  historical  interests  of  the  places  he  visits. 
Among  the  most  interesting  pages  are  the  de- 
scriptions of  the  curious  chain  of  circum- 
stances which  led  the  British  Government 
unwillingly  to  follow  the  path  of  occupation 
and  conquest.  If  the  writer  had  maintained 
throughout  the  volume  regard  for  the  se- 
rious reader,  as  he  does  in  this  chapter,  his 
book  would  have  been  more  pleasing. 


FROM   THE   SAN  JOSE   MERCURY. 

Jerome  Hart,  of  San  Francisco,  has  given 
us  another  volume  of  his  travels  in  strange 
lands.  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book "  is  an  in- 
teresting study  of  life  in  a  world  that  is  for- 
eign, even  in  thought,  to  Americans.  It  deals 
with  countries  still  preserving  all  phases  of 
old  worldism.  According  to  the  writer,  life 
is  not  all  roses,  lilies,  and  daffy-down-dillies 
in  Grecian,  Turkish,  and  other  cities  in  the 
Levant.  He  deals  with  his  theme  with  re- 
markable directness,  so  that  if  there  were  a 
Chamber  of  Commerce  in  some  of  the  cities 
he  censures,  he  would  be  severely  dealt  with. 

There  is  nothing  slipshod  in  this  instruc- 
tive volume.  The  book  shows  the  careful 
handling  of  a  man  accustomed  to  write  his 
thoughts,  to  record  his  observations.  Every 
sentence,  every  chapter  is  properly  arranged. 
There  is  not  a  single  superfluous  sentence  in 
the  volume.  It  is  by  no  means  a  piece  of 
impulsive,  accidental  scribbling,  but  a  work 
of  art. 

Mr.  Hart  has  invested  his  subject  with 
many  irresistible  pleasantries. 

17 


A  Levantine  Log-Book,  by  Jerome  Hart 


FROM  THE  TORONTO  GLOBE. 
New  books  of  travel  must  unfold  their  tale 
with  some  originality  of  style,  or  must  deal 
with  the  newest  phases  of  the  men  and  things 
of  which  they  tell.  In  this  book  the  author 
has,  in  a  measure,  done  both.  He  is  an 
American  journalist,  and  evidently  as  obser- 
vant as  a  trained  journalist  is  bound  to  be. 
For  this  reason  his  story  of  travel  through 
the  Levant  contains  at  once  a  set  of  clever 
pictures  of  places  and  their  people  as  they 
are  likely  to  appear  to  the  average  man,  and 
here  and  there  a  thoughtful  essay  upon  ob- 
jects and  conditions  of  life  met  with.  The 
book  is  written  brightly  throughout,  but 
while  incidents  related  in  a  decidedly  Mark 
Twainesque  style  are  found  in  considerable 
number,  there  are  occasions  when  the  work 
goes  deeper,  and,  without  losing  anything  of 
its  interesting  style,  deals  with  such  a  prob- 
lem, for  instance,  as  the  development  of 
modern  Egypt.  The  reader  finds  the  author 
ever  companionable.  A  glimpse  of  Constan- 
tinople, as  it  appears  to  the  American  eye 
and  of  the  Sultan,  is  particularly  interesting, 
as  is  a  description  of  his  majesty  driving 
swiftly  from  a  mosque  to  his  palace,  followed 
by  a  cloud  of  gayly  bedizened  courtiers,  fat 
and  scanty  of  breath  most  of  them,  but  com- 
pelled to  tear  along  on  foot  like  a  crowd  of 
school  boys.  About  fifty  excellent  photo- 
graphs, taken  by  the  author  and  beautifully 
reproduced,  illustrate  the  work. 


FROM  THE  SALT  LAKE  TRIBUNE. 
"  A  Levantine  Log-Book  "  is  the  brightest, 
most  readable,  and  most  instructive  book  of 
travel  we  have  read  for  a  long  time.  Many 
humorous  things  are  said,  as  well  as  many 
things  new  and  entertainingly  told.  Jerusalem, 
with  notes  by  the  way,  is  quite  equal  to  Mark 
Twain  at  his  best.  The  shams,  the  touts,  the 
sacrilege,  the  begging  monks  of  many  kinds, 
the  mendicancy  of  the  population  in  general, 
are  all  told  with  vivid  interest  and  special 
force  ;  and  the  hypocrisy  and  cant  that  every- 
where abound  are  justly  excoriated.  From 
the  Holy  City  we  are  taken  to  Egypt,  and 
are  treated  to  shrewd  and  sound  comment,  all 
spiced  with  a  keen  wit  and  fine  use  of  in- 
cident that  make  it  most  enjoyable  read- 
ing, reminding  one  much  of  the  style  and 
manner  of  Bayard  Taylor.  It  is  a  work  of 
the  very  highest  class,  and  eminently  read- 
able, an  amusing,  instructive,  and  corrective 
chronicle  which  gives  facts  so  plentifully 
spiced  with  the  seasoning  of  anecdote  and 
repartee  that  it  is  the  most  entertaining  book 
of  the  year. 

FROM  THE  GALVESTON  NEWS. 
In  Jerome  Hart's  "  Levantine  Log-Book " 
not  only  the  frequented  cities  and  places,  but 
the  interesting  out-of-the-way  quarters  as  well, 
are  graphically  described.  There  is  much  of 
interest  about  the  customs  of  the  people,  and 
the  anecdotes  in  connection  with  these  mat- 
ters are  well  told.  Many  amusing  and  enter- 
taining incidents  of  the  tour  are  happily  in- 
troduced. The  book  is  copiously  illustrated, 
and  will  prove  of  interest  and  value. 

18 


A  Levantine  Log-Book,  by  Jerome  Hart 


FROM  THE  ST.  Louis  POST-DISPATCH. 
Few  books  of  travel  have  the  charm  that 
Jerome  Hart's  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book " 
possesses.  It  is  a  story  of  wanderings  over 
that  unboundable  land  which  is  called  the 
Levant.  Mr.  Hart,  of  course,  attempts  to 
limit  this  alluring  region,  although  he  con- 
fesses the  task  is  almost  hopeless.  He  is  a 
great  breaker  of  idols.  He  is  a  trifle 
splenetic,  too,  over  the  Valley  of  Sweet 
Waters,  near  Constantinople,  over  which 
Gautier,  De  Amicis,  and  Marion  Crawford 
grew  rhetorical.  But  with  all  his  disillusion- 
ings,  Hart  has  compacted  a  pleasant  book  of 
travel  impressions. 


FROM.  THE  Los  ANGELES  TIMES. 
Jerome  Hart,  author  of  "  Argonaut  Let- 
ters "  and  "  Two  Argonauts  in  Spain,"  gives 
us  now  one  of  the  most  readable  and  inter- 
esting studies  of  modern  Italy,  Greece,  Pales- 
tine, and  Egypt  that  have  been  written.  The 
thick  volume  is  full  of  amusing  anecdote  and 
realistic  description ;  the  minute  things  that 
make  all  the  difference  between  country  and 
country  do  not  escape  Mr.  Hart's  keen  eyes, 
and  he  makes  them  living  facts  to  his  readers 
by  vivid,  typically  American  description. 


FROM  THE  SACRAMENTO  BEE. 
"  A  Levantine  Log-Book  "  is  the  third  in  a 
series  of  books  of  travel  by  Jerome  Hart.  He 
writes  in  lively  and  interesting  fashion  of  his 
experiences,  avoiding  the  conventional  style  of 
rhapsodical,  descriptive  globe-trotters,  and 
giving  much  practical  information  illuminated 
with  pungent  humor.  He  has  the  faculty  of 
seeing  beneath  the  surface  of  things,  and  his 
critical  comments  on  the  manners  and  cus- 
toms of  the  people  and  the  places  he  visited  in 
the  Mediterranean  region  are  highly  instruc- 
tive as  well  as  diverting.  Particular  attention 
is  given  to  Athens,  Constantinople,  Smyrna, 
Jerusalem,  Palestine,  and  Egypt.  A  chapter 
of  much  interest  describes  the  climatic 
changes  occurring  in  lower  Egypt  as  a  result 
of  the  great  extension  of  irrigation  through 
the  colossal  works  constructed  by  the  British 
in  that  country.  Rains  have  become  much 
more  frequent  and  abundant,  and  in  the  delta 
the  dryness  of  the  air  which  formerly  pre- 
vailed has  given  place  to  humidity. 


FROM  THE  Los  ANGELES  HERALD. 
Besides  ranking  as  one  of  the  most  vig- 
orous and  incisive  of  pur  editorial  writers, 
Jerome  Hart  possesses  in  an  unusual  degree 
that  talent  which  seems  to  have  fallen  into 
desuetude,  of  composing  most  delightful  let- 
ters of  travel.  Readers  of  the  Argonaut  have 
long  enjoyed  his  descriptions  of  foreign 
climes  and  peoples.  In  "  A  Levantine  Log- 
Book,"  Mr.  Hart  covers  a  field  suited  to  his 
peculiar  powers.  Next  to  taking  such  a 
journey  is  to  have  it  described  by  such  a 
writer  as  Mr.  Hart — he  sees  everything  worth 
seeing,  and  tells  of  it  so  entertainingly  that 
one  doesn't  seem  to  have  missed  much  by 
staying  at  home. 

19 


A  Levantine  Log-Book,  by  Jerome  Hart 


FROM  THE  BUFFALO  COURIER. 
"  A  Levantine  Log-Book,"  by  Jerome  Hart, 
consists  of  travel-sketches  in  the  eastern 
Mediterranean.  It  is  an  entertaining  and  in- 
structive volume  of  four  hundred  pages,  con- 
taining over  forty  illustrations.  Some  of  the 
chapters  abound  in  color  and  brilliant  word- 
picturing.  To  those  who  can  not  cross  the 
seas  this  volume  is  an  educator.  Those  who 
contemplate  a  trip  to  the  Orient  will  gain 
much  useful  knowledge  from  it.  Place  after 
place  passes  under  review,  always  pictured 
with  skill  and  frequently  with  fascination. 


FROM  THE  NEWARK  NEWS. 
Breezy  descriptions  of  the  Mediterranean 
countries  will  be  found  in  "  A  Levantine  Log- 
Book,"  by  Jerome  Hart.  He  has  taken  pains 
to  avoid  producing  anything  like  a  cut-and- 
dried  book  of  travel,  for  which  he  deserves 
thanks.  He  has  made  his  journeys  with  his 
eyes  open,  and  with  due  regard  to  what  is 
humorous  as  well  as  to  what  is  informing. 
The  result  is  a  very  entertaining  volume, 
which  may  be  read  with  profit. 


FROM  THE  TERRE  HAUTE  STAR. 
Jerome  Hart's  "  Levantine  Log-Book "  is 
a  collection  of  unusually  spicy  and  readable 
sketches  of  travel.  Mr.  Hart's  style  is  in- 
formal almost  to  being  conversational,  and 
very  sprightly,  with  a  touch  of  genial  satire. 
His  lively  reminiscences  are  liberally  illus- 
trated with  photographs,  most  of  which  he 
took  himself.  The  book  is  handsomely  and 
appropriately  bound. 


FROM    THE    OAKLAND    HERALD. 

Anything  from  the  pen-  of  Jerome  Hart, 
editor  of  the  Argonaut  of  San  Francisco,  is 
thoroughly  well  worth  reading.  "  A  Levan- 
tine Log-Book,"  his  latest  work,  is  another  of 
a  series  of  his  travel  sketches,  the  previous 
volumes  being  "  Argonaut  Letters "  and 
"  Two  Argonauts  in  Spain." 

Mr.  Hart,  as  the  reading  public  well  knows, 
is  a  comprehensive,  clever,  and  interesting 
writer  ;  he  has  a  very  observant  mind,  and  the 
added  faculty  of  being  able  to  record  his 
observations  in  writing  in  an  entertaining 
and  happy  manner.  Excellent  advice  for 
travelers  is  contained  in  the  volume.  But 
the  reader  should  not  jump  to  the  conclusion 
that  it  is  another  guide-book,  for  while  travel- 
ers will  find  much  therein  from  which  to 
profit,  the  work  is  on  an  entirely  different 
plane. 

"  A  Levantine  Log-Book "  is  handsomely 
illustrated  with  more  than  forty  half-tone 
pictures,  the  greater  number  of  these  from 
photographs  by  the  author.  It  is  excellently 
printed  and  bound,  and  in  this  respect  it  may 
be  said  that,  while  it  reflects  credit  upon  its 
publishers — Longmans,  Green  &  Co. — still  it 
does  not  surpass,  even  if  it  equals,  in  this  re- 
spect, "  Two  Argonauts  in  Spain,"  which  was 
printed  and  published  in  San  Francisco  in 
1904,  and  is  a  particularly  fine  specimen  of 
the  typographical  and  book-binders'  art. 

20 


A  Levantine  Log-Book,  by  Jerome  Hart 


FROM  THE  CLEVELAND  LEADER. 
In  Jerome  Hart's  "  Levantine  Log-Book," 
the  writer  takes  his  newspaper  instinct  for 
what  the  people  wish  to  know,  and  so  it  is 
easy  for  him  to  write  a  good  book  of  travels. 
He  takes  the  human  side  of  sight-seeing 
rather  than  its  heavy  historical  one  ;  he  adds 
to  this  his  gift  as  a  writer,  no  inconsiderable 
one ;  and  he  turns  out  a  book  that  goes  di- 
rectly to  its  mark.  Mr.  Hart's  book  is  un- 
conventional. It  is  informing,  but  in  a 
chatty,  gossipy  way,  yet  the  book  is  meaty. 
There  is  much  of  information  in  it,  and  of 
the  kind  you  wish.  He  makes  you  see  the 
things  he  saw,  and  that  is  the  goal  of  all 
travel  books.  It  has  humor  as  well  as  ob- 
servation, which  completes  the  long  tale  of 
its  merits.  The  illustrations  help  along  the 
text. 


FROM  THE  GLOUCESTER  TIMES. 
Jerome  Hart  has  a  breezy,  diffuse,  slangy, 
but  very  informing  way  of  imparting  his  im- 
pressions ;  and  his  books  of  travel  are  full  of 
statements  which,  put  in  Mr.  Hart's  manner, 
have  a  way  of  staying  in  the  memory.  This 
is  saying  that  Hart  is  a  racy  writer.  Here  he 
gives  us,  from  a  storehouse  of  observations 
and  experiences  in  the  Levant,  four  hundred 
large  pages  of  text,  and  illustration  which  are 
as  near  satisfying  as  anything  in  their  line 
can  be,  short  of  the  writing  of  one  long  resi- 
dent in  the  Orient.  We  are  enabled  in  this 
book  to  see  things  visible  to  the  author's  eye 
exactly  as  they  were  :  and  when  Mr.  Hart  says 
"  Jerusalem  is  the  filthiest  city  ever  inhab- 
ited by  white  men,"  although  we  can  not  re- 
call that  any  one  else  ever  said  this,  we  rest 
assured  that  it  is  as  he  says.  These  accounts 
are  informal  and  blunt,  yet  they  appear  to  be 
mature  impressions.  We  doubt,  however,  if 
Mr.  Hart  can  judge  of  the  value  of  Christian 
missions  among  the  Mohammedans,  which  he 
tries  to  do  ;  a  specialist  long  on  the  ground 
is  to  be  preferred  to  him. 


FROM  THE  MOBILE  REGISTER. 
A  travel-book  of  rare  charm  is  Jerome 
Hart's  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book."  Mr.  Hart 
does  not  give  the  greater  part  of  his  attention 
to  the  things  done  in  foreign  lands  with 
which  we  are  all  acquainted,  but  he  writes  so 
entertainingly  and  vividly  of  quaint  nooks  and 
random  impressions  that  his  book  makes  de- 
lightful reading. 


FROM  THE  Los  ANGELES  GRAPHIC. 
A  book  of  travel  to  attract  attention  now- 
adays must  be  far  out  of  the  ordinary.  Jerome 
Hart's  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book "  is  as  en- 
tertaining a  volume  as  could  well  be  found. 
In  it  there  is  nothing  stereotyped,  nothing 
of  the  guide-book  order.  Mr.  Hart  supplies 
something  else.  .  .  .  There  is  a  series  of  ex- 
tremely entertaining  chapters  on  modern 
Egypt,  and  the  book  closes  with  a  vigorous 
defense  of  the  English  policy  in  Egypt,  Mr. 
Hart  first  stating  that  his  opinions  on  English 
occupation  were  once  diametrically  opposite 
to  those  he  now  holds.  We  can  cordially 
commend  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book." 

21 


A  Levantine  Log-Book,  by  Jerome  Hart 


FROM  THE  INDIANAPOLIS  NEWS. 
Jerome  Hart's  "  Levantine  Log-Book "  is 
a  delightfully  interesting  and  informative 
book  of  travel.  The  author's  wanderings  took 
him  to  Stamboul,  Cairo,  Smyrna,  Jaffa,  Jeru- 
salem, up  the  Nile,  and  back  again.  He  writes 
about  all  these  places  entertainingly,  with 
many  a  halt  by  the  way  to  tell  of  the  incidents 
and  humors  of  Levantine  travel.  The  volume 
is  filled  with  interesting  matter,  which  is 
presented  in  gossipy  and  readable  style.  It 
gives  numerous  word-pictures  of  the  daily  life 
and  customs  of  the  people,  which  pictures,  by 
reason  of  their  vividness,  stand  out  clearly, 
and  will  be  remembered. 


FROM  THE  KANSAS  CITY  JOURXAI  . 
Jerome  Hart's  "  Levantine  Log-Book "  is. 
particularly  interesting.  It  is  a  book  of  travel 
that  is  neither  a  guide-book '  nor  a  rhapsody. 
Mr.  Hart  is  a  clever  descriptive  chronicler. 
His  characterizations  of  the  various  places 
visited  are  very.  apt. 


FROM  OUT  WEST,  Los  ANGELES. 
Of  works  of  travel,  by  far  the  most  enter- 
taining to  hand  is  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book  " 
(Longmans;  $2.00  net).  This  is  by  Jerome 
Hart,  editor  of  the  Argonaut,  who  declares: 
"  I  believe  in  telling  the  truth  about  travel. 
It  may  not  much  matter  what  a  traveler 
thinks,  but  it  does  matter  that  he  should, 
if  he  tells  it,  tell  it  truthfully.  Most  travel- 
ers rave  to  order."  Mr.  Hart  assuredly  does 
no  raving ;  and  the  truth  as  he  sees  it  is 
usually  dashed  with  a  touch  of  cynical  wit  in 
the  telling  that  does  not  easily  become  tire- 
some. 


FROM  THE  SAN  FRANCISCO  NEWS  LETTER. 

Not  since  the  publication  of  Mark  Twain's 
"  Innocents  Abroad "  has  there  been  placed 
before  the  public  such  an  entertaining  and 
accurate  book  of  foreign  travel  as  Jerome 
Hart's  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book."  It  is  writ- 
ten in  so  delightful  a  style  that  it  is  difficult 
to  drop  it  when  once  picked  up.  It  is  full 
of  anecdotes,  humorous  situations,  and  bits 
of  interesting  history  that  are  rarely  to  be 
found  elsewhere. 

The  reviewer,  having  spent  a  longer  time 
in  the  Levant  than  the  author,  feels  com- 
petent to  state  that  the  descriptions  of  the 
places  and  peoples  visited  during  Mr.  Hart's 
trip  are  remarkably  accurate.  One  who  reads 
"A  Levantine  Log-Book"  will  •  read  of  the 
Levant  as  it  actually  is,  seen  by  the  obser- 
vant American  tourist.  It  is  far  from  being 
the  conventional  book  of  travel. 


FROM  THE  DETROIT  FREE  PRESS. 
The  fireside  traveler  will  find  Jerome 
Hart's  new  work,  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book," 
a  delightful  volume  of  descriptive  chronicles. 
It  is  written  out  of  two  years'  sojourn  in  the 
Levant,  and  is  a  charming  volume  about  the 
East.  Stripped  of  sentiment  and  glamour, 
Mr.  Hart  lays  the  Levant  before  us  as  it 
really  is.  He  writes  very  entertainingly  as 
well  as  truthfully,  and  his  book  is  very  hand- 
somely illustrated. 

22 


A  Levantine  Log-Book,  by  Jerome  Hart 


FROM  THE  ST.  PAUL  PIONEER  PRESS. 
"  A  Levantine  Log-Book,"  by  Jerome  Hart, 
is  the  result  of  a  stay  of  two  seasons  in  the 
Levant.  The  book  begins  with  a  discussion 
as  to  the  boundaries  of  the  Levant.  The 
writer's  definition  of  the  Levant  includes 
practically  all  that  portion  of  the  Mediter- 
ranean coasts  where  Mohammedan  supremacy 
has  left  its  marks.  In  a  chapter  entitled 
''  Disappointments  of  Palestine,"  the  writer 
makes  some  striking  comparisons  in  size  be- 
tween the  Holy  Land  and  other  parts  of  the 
world.  The  book  contains  over  forty  hand- 
some half-tone  pictures. 


FROM  THE  SACRAMENTO  UNION. 
There  has  just  come  from  the  press  a  third 
volume  of  Jerome  Hart's  travel  series,  under 
the  title  "  A  Levantine  Log-Book."  Nominally 
and  primarily  this  book  is  a  record  of  travels 
in  Eastern  countries,  but  it  is  very  much 
more  than  this.  Upon  the  basis  of  a  travel- 
er's observations,  Mr.  Hart  has  given  us  a 
book  in  which  the  historical  and  social  studies 
of  a  lifetime  are  embodied  with  the  reflec- 
tions of  a  mind  at  once  alert  and  disciplined. 
With  respect  to  the  places  and  things  which 
have  passed  under  Mr.  Hart's  observation, 
we  have  not  merely  a  report,  but  what  the 
lawyers  would  call  a  report  with  findings — 
the  findings,  indeed,  making  the  larger  and 
better  part  of  the  product.  It  may  be  said 
of  this  latest — and  best — of  Mr.  Hart's  books 
that  in  itself  it  almost  marks  a  revival  of  a 
fashion  in  literature  which  had  all  but  gone 
out.  Now  and  then  in  late  years  we  have 
had  a  notable  book  of  observation  such  as 
Mr.  Froude's  "  Oceana,"  or  Mr.  Freeman's 
"  Xotes  "  ;  but,  generally  speaking,  the  literary 
energy  of  the  time  has  gone  into  other  forms 
of  writing.  The  field  of  travel,  with  its  in- 
finite range  of  interests,  has  largely  been 
abandoned  to  the  unseasoned  amateur  or  the 
outworn  superannuate.  In  a  field  thus  ne- 
glected, Mr.  Hart  has  discovered  an  amazing 
wealth  of  suggestion,  and  has  found  in  his 
own  knowledge  and  in  his  own  imagination 
power  to  make  the  most  of  it.  And  he 
makes  all  the  more  of  it  because  his  work  is 
wholly  lacking  at  the  point  of  pretension. 
One  who  reads  the  "  Levantine  Log-Book " 
finds  himself  instructed  and  charmed  as  by 
the  easy  chat  of  a  cultivated  talker.  So  in- 
formal are  the  literary  manners  of  the  writer 
that  it  is  only  at  the  end  one  discovers  that 
the  performance  is  an  extraordinary  one — ex- 
traordinary in  the  clearness  of  its  observa- 
tion, in  its  interpretation  of  historical  se- 
quences, in  its  grasp  of  the  inner  meanings 
of  things,  and  in  its  winnowing  of  essential 
from  collateral  interests.  Mr.  Hart  has 
found  a  field  admirably  suited  to  his  gifts 
and  to  his  training.  It  is  one  in  which  he  will 
find  small  competition,  since  the  spirit  and 
skill  which  it  requires  are  not  commonly 
found  in  those  who  go  knocking  about  the 
world — or,  for  that  matter,  among  those  who 
bide  at  home.  Rare,  indeed,  is  the  eye  to  see 
and  the  wit  to  interpret  which  make  the 
character  of  this  book  ;  and  rarer  still  are  the 
refined  humor  and  the  polished  literary  art 
which  makes  its  charm. 

23 


A  Levantine  Log-Book,  by  Jerome  Hart 


Selling  Agents 

The  Argonaut  Publishing  Co. 

246  Sutter  Street,  San  Francisco 


TO 

A.  C.  H. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I  TOWARD  THE  LEVANT 3 

II  BY  THE   WAY 15 

III  ENGLAND'S  LEVANTINE  FORTRESS      .     .  61 

IV  THE  CITY  OF  THE  VIOLET  CROWN  .     .  77 
V  STAMBOUL  SEEN   FROM  THE  SEA        .      .  99 

VI  THE   SULTAN  AND   THE   SELAMLIK     .      .119 

VII  THE   BREEKS   OF  THE  TURKS     ....  131 

VIII  OF  SMYRNA,  AND   OF  BUYING  THINGS  141 

IX  BETWEEN   JAFFA  AND   JERUSALEM      .     .  153 

X  JERUSALEM  THE  GOLDEN 165 

XI  GABRIEL  AND   URIEL 183 

XII  "SPOTS  WHERE" .     .  195 

XIII  PIETY:   GENTILE,  JEWISH,  MOSLEM    .     .  209 

XIV  DISAPPOINTMENTS  IN  PALESTINE       .     .  223 
XV  CAIRO'S  ROUTES  AND   INNS 253 

XVI  THE  MIDWINTER  CRUSH  AT  CAIRO  .     .  273 

XVII  EGYPTIAN  JOURNALISM 285 

XVIII  UP  THE  NILE  TO  LUXOR 301 

XIX  FROM  THEBES  TO  ASSOUAN 321 

XX  THE  EGYPTIANS'   FOREIGN  GUESTS    .     .  343 

XXI  ENGLAND  IN  EGYPT 363 

XXII  RETROSPECT  AND   FORECAST      ....  387 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

POMPEII  AND  VESUVIUS 32 

MACARONI  ALONG  THE  POMPEII  ROAD    ....       32 

From  photographs  by  Sommer 
FORTIFICATIONS       AND      LIBRARY       BUILDING, 

MALTA 67 

From  photographs  by  Sommer 
RUINS  OF  THE  TEMPLE  OF  OLYMPUS,  ATHENS          .       79 

From  photograph  by  Le*vy  Freres 
PORTICO  OF  THE  ERECHTHEION,  ATHENS         .     .       87 

From  photograph  by  L£vy  Freres 

TOMB  OF  ALEXANDER  (SO-CALLED),  CONSTANTI- 
NOPLE        104 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 
BOATMEN  ON  THE  GOLDEN  HORN 121 

From  photograph  by  Se"bah  and  Joaillier 
A  MOHAMMEDAN  CEMETERY 136 

From  photograph  by  Se"bah  and  Joaillier 
PARADISE  AQUEDUCT,  SMYRNA 143 

From  photograph  by  Se"bah  and  Joaillier 
INSIDE  THE  JAFFA  GATE,  JERUSALEM       ....     155 

From  photograph 

DAMASCUS  GATE,  JERUSALEM 171 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 

ENTRANCE  TO   CHURCH   OF  THE  HOLY  SEPUL- 
CHRE, JERUSALEM 199 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 
DOME  OF  THE  ROCK,  JERUSALEM 202 

From  photograph 
INTERIOR  OF  KUBBET  ES-SAKHRA  AND  THE  HOLY 

ROCK 202 

From  photograph 
TOWER  OF  ANTONIA,  JERUSALEM 217 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 

NATIVES  AROUND  THE  ZION  GATE,  JERUSALEM      .     231 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 

ix 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

COURT  OF  AN  ARAB  HOUSE  WITH  MUSHARABIYEH 

WINDOWS  AND  FURNITURE    ....  V  ...     257 

From  photograph  by  G.  Lekegian 

KASREN-NIL  BRIDGE,  CAIRO 261 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 
ROAD  FROM  CAIRO  TO  THE  PYRAMIDS 276 

From  photograph  by  G.  Lekegian 

GRANITE  TEMPLE  OF  THE  SPHINX  AND  PYRAMID 

OF  CHEOPS 280 

From  photograph  by  G.  Lekegian 
STUDENTS  AT  THEIR  STUDIES,  UNIVERSITY  OF  EL 

AZHAR,  CAIRO 286 

From  photograph  by  G.  Lekegian 
JUVENILE  CAMEL  DRIVER 296 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 
IN  THE  BAZAAR 296 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 

DONKEY  BOY  AT  LUXOR 296 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 
SOUDANESE  MOTHER  AND  CHILD 296 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 

SHADOUF,  OR  BUCKET-AND-SWEEP  DEVICE  FOR 

LIFTING  IRRIGATING  WATER 307 

From  photograph  by  P.  Dittrich 
COLUMNS  OF  THE  TEMPLE  OF  LUXOR      ....     310 

From  photograph  by  G.  Lekegian 
ARAB  BOYS  WATCHING  A  SAILING-RACE  AROUND 

ELEPHANTINE  ISLAND 315 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 

DAHABIYEH  OF  EXPLORER  DAVIS     .     :     >     ,     .     .     315 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 
DAHABIYEH  OF  EX-EMPRESS  EUGENIE      ....     315 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 
ARAB  VILLAGE  GIRLS  CARRYING  WATER  FROM 

THE  NILE 321 

From  photograph  by  G.  Lekegian 

TEMPLE  AT  KOM  OMBOS  AND  BISHAREEN  DRAGO- 
MANS      325 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 
SECTION   OF  THE   GREAT  DAM   ON  THE   NILE 

ABOVE  ASSOUAN 325 

From  photograph  by  A.  Marquez 

BLUSHING  BEDOUINS 330 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 

X 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

CAMELS  KNEELING  TO  BE  MOUNTED       ....     330 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 

SAKIA,   OR    BUCKET-WHEEL   FOR   LIFTING    IRRI- 
GATING WATER 334 

From  photograph  by  G.  Lekegian 

A  DIMINUTIVE  DRAGOMAN 347 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 

A  DESCENDANT  OF  RAMESES 347 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 
A  DWARF  FROM  DONGOLA 347 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 
A  BEGGAR  AT  LUXOR 347 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 
A  SHEIK  OF  DONKEY  BOYS 347 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 
NATIVE  FELUCCAS 3SI 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 
A  SAKIA  IN  THE  DESERT 3SI 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 
GROUP  ON  THE  NILE  BANK 35I 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 

WOMEN  GETTING  WATER 35I 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 
A  MOSQUE  IN  THE  PLAIN  OF  THEBES  ...  .  364 

From  photograph  by  the  Author 

AVENUE  OF  SPHINXES  LEADING  TO  TEMPLE  OF 

KARNAK 372 

From  photograph  by  G.  Lekegian 

MONUMENT  ERECTED  TO  GENERAL  GORDON  AT 

KHARTOUM 3g2 

From  photograph  by  A.  Marquez. 

DATE  TREES  ON  THE  NILE  BANK 388 

From  photograph  by  G.  Lekegian 
ISLAND  OF  PHIL^:  BEFORE  THE  DAM  WAS  BUILT  393 

From  photograph  by  G.  Lekegian 
KIOSK  AND  TEMPLE,  ISLAND  OF  PHIL/E  NOW 

PARTIALLY  SUBMERGED 399 

From  photograph  by  A.  Marquez 


TOWARD  THE   LEVANT 


TOWARD  THE  LEVANT 

QUESTION  often  heard  among  Mediter- 
ranean travellers  is,  "  Where  does  the  Le- 
vant begin?"  This  is  not  unlike  the  old 
paradox,  "Where  does  the  sky  begin?" 
The  reply  may  be  according  to  the  temperament  of  the 
questioner,  but  the  Levant  seems  always  to  be  farther 
east.  The  Italians  look  toward  Greece;  the  Greeks 
toward  European  Turkey;  the  Turks  toward  Asia 
Minor.  What,  then,  is  the  Levant,  and  what  com- 
prises it?  Possibly  Sicily  and  Crete,  certainly  Cyprus; 
probably  Malta;  beyond  question,  the  coast  of  Turkey. 
"Beginning  at  Naples,"  some  would  say,  "the  Le- 
vant runs  east."  But  how  far  east?  And  where  does 
the  return  line  begin?  At  Alexandria?  But  at  Alex- 
andria the  line  of  the  Levant  has  already  curved  west  of 
Syria.  Shall  the  line  continue  west  of  Alexandria? 
And  if  so,  where  shall  it  stop?  Shall  it  include  the 
Barbary  States? 

It  seems  paradoxical,  but  the  southern  shore  of  the 
Mediterranean  is  more  Levantine  —  which  means 
eastern  —  than  the  northern  shore.  Are  Tunis,  Tri- 

[3] 


Toward  the  Levant 

poli,  and  Morocco,  therefore,  Levantine  ?  Some  people 
would  say,  yes.  But  if  they  are,  why  not  Algiers  ?  It 
is  Moorish  like  Tripoli,  Mohammedan  like  Morocco; 
why,  then,  is  it  not  Levantine  ?  But  here  most  people 
would  grow  doubtful,  for  Algiers  is  nearer  to  the  Straits 
of  Gibraltar  than  to  the  Golden  Horn.  Malta  is  Chris- 
tian; is  it  therefore  to  be  considered  as  not  Levantine? 
But  Egypt  is  certainly  Levantine,  yet  there  were  four 
Christian  bishoprics  there  seventeen  hundred  years  ago, 
and  the  Egyptian  Copts  were  Christians  when  our 
ancestors  in  Britain  were  offering  up  human  sacrifices 
on  druidical  altars  to  pagan  gods  and  goddesses.  Pales- 
tine is  unmistakably  Levantine;  yet  there  are  more 
Catholic  sects  in  Palestine  than  in  Italy;  more  non- 
conformists than  in  Great  Britain;  more  Christian 
schismatics  than  in  that  land  of  religious  freedom,  the 
United  States.  Palestine  is  Christian,  Jewish,  and 
Mohammedan;  yet  so  is  it  Levantine.  So  Greece  is 
Christian,  but  Western  nations  look  on  it  as  Levantine. 
Therefore,  "Levantine"  does  not  mean  a  matter  of 
latitude;  therefore,  to  a  Roman  pontiff  " Levantine" 
might  mean  "latitudinarian,"  as  he  is  forced  to  allow 
some  Catholic  priests  to  marry  in  the  Levant.  Nor  does 
it  depend  on  longitude,  for  Tunis  lies  just  south  of 
Sardinia,  yet  Tunis  is  distinctly  Levantine  in  flavor, 
while  Sardinia  is  distinctly  Occidental.  Morocco, 
although  Occidental,  is  Mohammedan,  while  Palestine, 
although  Levantine,  is  mainly  Christian  and  Jewish. 
Nor  yet  does  "Levantine"  mean  race,  for  the  Ottoman 
Turks,  the  Syrians,  the  Cretans,  the  Cypriotes,  the 

[4] 


The  Levant  not  Continental 

Maltese,  the  Palestine  Jews,  are  all  Levantine,  are  all 
of  the  great  Aryan  race,  and  are  all  white,  while  the 
natives  of  Tunis,  of  Tripoli,  of  Morocco,  of  Algiers, 
are  all  Occidental,  are  all  of  the  Afro-Asiatic  type,  and 
are  all  dark. 

Nor  is  the  Levant  to  be  sharply  denned  by  the  flags 
which  seem  ascendant  there,  whether  Christian  or 
Mohammedan,  for  the  blue  and  white  cross  of  Greece 
is  seen  all  through  Levantine  waters.  Another  flag 
with  the  Christian  cross,  the  flame-colored  ensign  of 
England,  is  seen  on  every  hand,  —  on  merchant  ships, 
on  passenger  liners,  on  ships  of  war.  It  floats  over 
Malta.  In  Egypt  it  is  almost  as  frequent  as  the  cres- 
cent and  star,  and  much  more  potent.  It  floats  beside 
the  Egyptian  flag  in  the  Soudan,  where  the  two  govern- 
ments have  equal  control. 

The  Levant's  boundaries  cannot  be  continental,  for 
all  writers  treat  the  coast  of  Asia  Minor  as  Levantine. 
If  Scutari,  in  Asia  Minor,  is  Levantine,  can  its  sister 
city,  Stamboul,  across  the  Bosphorus,  be  called  Occi- 
dental? Surely  Constantinople  is  Levantine,  but  it  is 
European.  If  Constantinople  is  Levantine,  why  not 
•  Greece  ?  Out  of  the  Hellenic  peoples  sprang  the  great 
Eastern  Empire ;  out  of  Hellas  grew  Byzantium.  What 
is  now  the  kingdom  of  the  Hellenes,  or  Modern  Greece, 
was  at  that  epoch  the  westernmost  part  of  the  Empire 
of  the  East;  then  it  surely  is  Levantine,  yet  it  is  Euro- 
pean. Certainly  no  one  would  deny  that  Egypt  is  of 
the  Levant.  Alexandria  has  been  for  centuries  one  of 
the  greatest  of  Levantine  cities.  It  was  once  the  capital 

[5] 


Toward  the  Levant 

of  Grecian  letters,  art,  and  trade.  It  was  once  the  seat 
of  a  primitive  Christian  diocese.  Over  this  bishopric 
ruled  St.  Cyril,  one  of  the  fathers  of  the  early  Christian 
Church.  Yet  Alexandria  is  in  the  Egyptian  Delta, 
the  Delta  is  in  Africa,  and  both  are  unmistakably  Le- 
vantine. Thus  we  find  that  the  Levant  is  not  defined 
by  continents,  for  it  is  divided  between  Europe,  Asia, 
and  Africa. 

It  is  evident  that  the  Levant  may  not  be  defined  by 
latitude  or  longitude,  by  nations  or  flags,  by  continental 
boundaries,  by  race  or  religion.  What,  then,  are  its 
boundaries?  The  Italians  are  the  only  people  who 
even  hint  at  a  definition.  They  treat  Genoa  as  a  cen- 
tral point  —  probably  of  "Italia  Irredenta"  —  calling 
what  is  west  of  there  Riviera  di  Ponente,  "Western 
Coast,"  east  of  there  Riviera  di  Levantey  "Eastern 
Coast."  In  default  of  any  other  definition,  we  may 
take  the  Italian  one,  supplementing  it  by  individual 
preference  guided  by  color  and  atmosphere.  Thus 
influenced,  the  non-technical  traveller  would  include 
Naples  in  the  Levant  because  Naples  once  was  part  of 
Greater  Greece;  because  its  people  are  Oriental  in 
many  ways;  because  Naples  once  had  temples  where 
the  Neapolitans  worshipped  Egyptian  deities.  Sicily 
would  be  called  Levantine  for  similar  reasons,  and 
because  of  the  strong  Arabic  tinge  to  the  Sicilian  dia- 
lect. Malta  would  be  placed  in  the  Levant  for  her 
Oriental  dialect,  her  Arab  blood,  and  her  geologic 
identity  with  Africa.  Because  of  Oriental  heredity, 
race,  color,  atmosphere,  or  religion,  the  same  non- 

[6] 


France  in  the  Levant 

technical  traveller  would  in  the  Levant  include  these: 
Crete;  Cyprus;  the  kingdom  of  the  Hellenes;  all  of  the 
coasts  of  the  Ionian  and  ^Egean  seas;  parts  of  the  Balkan 
peninsula;  those  parts  of  European  Turkey  on  the  Sea 
of  Marmora,  the  JSgean,  and  the  Bosphorus;  the  coasts 
of  Asiatic  Turkey,  including  Syria  and  Palestine ;  finally, 
the  Levantine  African  coast,  including  Egypt,  and 
possibly  Tripoli  and  Tunis.  Few  would  include  Mo- 
rocco and  Algiers,  but  no  one  can  deny  that  the  fringe 
of  Far  Eastern  life  and  color  struggles  to  Far  Western 
points  along  the  northern  shores  of  Africa,  even  to 
points  almost  as  far  distant  as  the  Pillars  of  Hercules. 

Probably  "The  Levant"  may  mean  those  parts  of 
the  Mediterranean  coast  which  were  Phoenician  in  the 
ancient  times  or  Mohammedan  in  the  later  times. 
Geographically,  and  in  point  of  longitude,  Spain  is 
certainly  Occidental  and  European;  yet  the  long  rule 
of  the  Moors  has  left  much  Oriental  color  there,  and 
the  southern  coasts  of  Spain  —  not  the  Catalan  coasts 
—  certainly  seem  Levantine. 

An  interesting  confirmation  of  the  elasticity  of  the 
term  "Levant"  is  furnished  by  the  official  nomen- 
clature used  by  France.  That  country  in  its  consular 
documents  denominates  the  following  points  as  "  Echel- 
les  du  Levant":  Constantinople,  Smyrna,  Aleppo, 
Cyprus,  Cairo,  Alexandria,  Tripoli,  Tunis,  and  Algiers. 
The  word  Echette — in  Turkish,  Iskele — may  be  a  cor- 
ruption of  the  Italian,  Scala,  which  is  closely  allied  to 
the  French,  escalier;  the  term  is  applied,  all  along  the 
Levant,  to  the  piers  or  jetties  built  on  piles,  with  steps, 

[7] 


Toward  the  Levant 

stairs,  or  ladders  running  down  to  the  water  level, 
principally  for  the  handling  of  merchandise.  At  each 
of  these  points  known  as  "Echelles"  France  has  for 
more  than  two  centuries  had  consuls  clothed  with  cer- 
tain powers  and  vested  with  certain  pecuniary  and 
other  privileges.  For  example,  in  a  "Grande  Echelle 
du  Levant"  the  French  consul  would  not  only  receive 
a  large  salary,  but  also  a  fixed  sum  per  year  to  pay  the 
bakshish  due  to  the  pasha  and  to  his  officers,  the 
wages  of  the  dragoman  or  kavass,  those  of  the  almoner, 
and  to  maintain  a  Christian  chapel.  These  terms  and 
usages  are  still  kept  up  by  official  France,  which  is 
interesting  as  showing  that  the  elastic  boundaries 
of  the  Levant  extend  far  to  the  West,  commercially 
speaking. 

¥^\i 

There  are  many  ways  of  reaching  the  Levant,  these, 
of  course,  depending  on  your  point  of  departure.  If 
from  England,  the  " long-sea"  route  is  preferred  by 
those  who  are  fond  of  ocean  travel.  This  route  crosses 
the  Bay  of  Biscay,  passes  through  the  Straits  of  Gib- 
raltar, touches  at  various  ports,  the  principal  ones 
being  Marseilles,  Naples,  Brindisi,  Malta,  and  Port 
Said,  which  is  the  last  Levantine  port,  most  of  the  steam- 
ers then  going  on  to  the  Far  East.  The  " short-sea" 
route  is  across  France  by  rail  to  Marseilles,  or  across 
Europe  by  rail  to  Brindisi,  where  passengers  are  picked 
up  by  the  " long-sea"  steamers.  These  routes  are 
followed  by  the  Peninsular  and  Oriental  and  the  Orient 
Pacific  lines. 

[8] 


New  Levantine  Lines 

The  P.  and  O.  leave  London  via  Gibraltar  and  Mar- 
seilles, or  via  Gibraltar  and  Malta,  or  via  Brindisi,  for 
Port  Said.  The  Orient  Pacific  leave  London  and 
Plymouth  via  Gibraltar,  Marseilles,  and  Naples,  for 
Port  Said  and  Ismailia.  The  North  German  Lloyd 
and  Hamburg-American  sail  from  American,  British, 
French,  or  German  ports  on  varying  schedules.  The 
White  Star  line  sails  from  New  York  and  Boston  for 
Mediterranean  ports.  From  Liverpool  the  Moss, 
Ellerman,  and  Papayanni  lines  sail  for  Alexandria; 
the  Bibby,  Hall,  and  Anchor  lines  for  Port  Said.  From 
Marseilles  the  Messageries  Maritimes  line  sails  for 
Alexandria;  their  India  and  China  ships  touch  at  Port 
Said.  From  Genoa,  Naples,  Venice,  and  Brindisi, 
the  Navigazione  Generale  Italiana  line  sails  for  Alex- 
andria. From  Brindisi  and  Trieste  the  Austrian  Lloyd 
line  sails  for  Alexandria. 

The  foregoing  list  gives  the  initial  points  of  departure, 
but  Levantine  passengers  may  book  at  many  ports 
where  the  ships  call. 

Travel  to  Egypt  has  so  much  increased  of  late  years 
that  new  lines  have  been  added  to  the  old  ones,  and 
new  steamers  added  to  the  old  lines.  In  the  winter  of 
1905  the  North  German  Lloyd  put  on  a  special  line  of 
fast  steamers  between  Marseilles  and  Alexandria  — 
this  service  being  in  addition  to  its  two  lines,  Asian  and 
Australasian,  which  call  at  Egyptian  ports.  The 
P.  and  O.  Company  also  added  a  special  service  be- 
tween Marseilles  and  Alexandria,  in  addition  to  its  two 
far- Eastern  services,  calling  at  Port  Said.  The  White 

[9] 


Toward  the  Levant 

Star  Company  purchased  the  old  Commonwealth 
steamers,  and  put  them  on  as  a  direct  line  from  Egypt 
to  the  United  States.  Thus  there  are  now  giving  pas- 
senger transportation  between  Egypt  and  the  Western 
World  five  German  services,  two  first-class  English, 
two  Italian,  one  French,  one  Austrian,  one  Turkish, 
one  Greek,  and  a  number  of  miscellaneous  lines  of 
mixed  freight  and  passenger  service,  such  as  the  Moss 
line  of  Liverpool,  the  Anchor  line,  and  the  Papayanni 
line.  The  highest  priced  of  all  is  the  new  North  Ger- 
man line  from  Marseilles  to  Alexandria. 

The  most  convenient  for  Americans  is  the  new  White 
Star  service  from  Alexandria  to  New  York  and  Boston, 
touching  at  sundry  cities  en  route.  These  ports  of  call 
are  varied,  differing  on  the  New  York  and  Boston  ser- 
vices, and  differing  again  on  the  inward  and  outward 
bound  ships.  The  steamers  are  stanch  and  reasonably 
fast;  the  discipline  is  not  quite  so  good  nor  is  the  table 
fare  so  choice  as  on  the  North  Atlantic  White  Star 
steamers,  but  both  are  good  enough.  The  White  Star 
Mediterranean  steamers  carry  Italian  crews,  which 
prevents  their  captains  from  flying  the  flag  of  the  Royal 
Naval  Reserve.  I  asked  one  of  the  officers  why  they 
carried  Italian  crews.  He  replied  briefly:  "  We  carried 
English  crews  at  first,  but  they  used  to  get  drunk  at 
every  port,  lick  the  dagoes,  get  into  jail,  and  leave  us 
short-handed.  So  now  we  ship  Italians."  A  disagree- 
able feature  of  these  west-bound  White  Star  steamers 
is  that  at  Naples,  Genoa,  and  Ponta  Delgada  they  ship 
fifteen  hundred  or  two  thousand  emigrants  for  the 

[10] 


Cruising  Steamers 

United  States.  These  steerage  passengers  are  allowed 
all  around  the  main  deck  on  the  space  between  the 
superstructure  and  the  bulwarks.  As  a  result,  those 
first-class  passengers  who  pay  high  prices  for  the  best 
rooms  on  the  ship  get  the  poorest;  for  the  loud  talk, 
concertinas,  quarrels,  cigarettes,  and  odors  under  their 
cabin  windows  poison  the  air,  and  render  life  a  burden. 

Passengers  sailing  from  the  United  States  may  choose 
between  a  Hamburg- American,  a  North  German  Lloyd, 
or  a  White  Star  steamer;  these  run  to  Naples  and  Genoa, 
where  passengers  can  trans-ship  for  Alexandria  or  other 
Levantine  ports.  These  three  lines  run  a  few  ships  in 
the  winter  direct  from  the  United  States  to  Alexandria. 
A  pleasant  way  to  go  is  by  one  of  the  cruising  steamers 
of  the  White  Star,  or  either  of  the  German  lines;  these 
cruising  steamers  touch  for  one,  two,  or  three  days, 
according  to  importance,  at  such  ports  as  Genoa, 
Naples,  Algiers,  Palermo,  Messina,  Tripoli,  and  Malta. 

But  nearly  every  traveller  will  find  that  his  ship  goes 
to  Naples,  and  he  will  also  find  that  city  worth  a  stay 
of  a  few  days,  whether  or  not  he  has  been  there  before, 
once  or  many  times. 


II 

BY    THE    WAY 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


n 

BY  THE  WAY 

|T  was  five  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Our 
ship  was  steaming  up  the  Bay  of  Naples, 
under  a  slow  bell.  A  matinal  mist 
wrapped  the  shore. 

Suddenly  objects  on  land  began  to  pierce  the  mist. 
"Look!"  said  the  Old  Traveller,  "there  is  the  Naples 
quay,  and  there  is  that  celebrated  mediaeval  fortress, 
the  Castel  del  Ovo." 

"Nonsense!"  cried  the  Man-Who-Had-Been-To- 
Naples-Before,  "  that  building  is  not  on  the  water-front, 
but  up  on  the  hill  —  it's  the  convent  of  San  Martino." 

The  rest  of  us,  who  were  hanging  over  the  rail,  were 
also  hanging  on  their  words.  We  were  perplexed  at 
this  difference  between  our  oracles.  The  first  officer 
happened  along,  so  we  appealed  to  him. 

"That  building?"  said  he,  squinting  at  it  with  one 
eye  as  sailor  men  do;  "no,  that  is  not  the  Castel  del  Ovo, 
it  is  a  macaroni  factory;  and  those  houses  are  not  Naples, 
that  is  Pozzuoli;  Naples  is  on  the  other  side  of  the 
point." 

Our  two  oracles  looked  abashed,  but  only  for  a  few 


By  the  Way 

moments.  We  had  rounded  the  point,  and  were  com- 
ing to  anchor  under  the  lee  of  the  mole. 

"Ah,"  said  the  Old  Traveller,  sentimentally,  "what 
a  pity  that  you  have  got  in  so  early!  Now,  if  you  had 
only  arrived  in  the  evening,"  he  went  on,  with  his  vox- 
humana  stop,  "  the  ship  would  be  surrounded  with  boats 
full  of  picturesque  Neapolitans  singing  'Santa  Lucia.' 
I  tell  you  what,  you're  not  in  luck.  Now  when  /  ar- 
rived at  Naples  before,  we  had  'Santa  Lucia'  the  mo- 
ment the  anchor  touched  bottom.  I  tell  you,  it  was 
grand!"  And  the  Old  Traveller  gazed  at  us  in  a 
superior  and  compassionate  manner. 

At  this  moment  a  twang  sounded  from  the  water.  It 
came  from  mandolins,  guitars,  and  harps;  it  was  fol- 
lowed by  squeaks  from  fiddles;  and  speedily,  from  port 
and  starboard  sides,  there  arose  "Santa  Lucia"  in  nine 
or  ten  different  keys  and  in  nineteen  or  twenty  different 
voices  —  risotto  tenors,  spaghetti  sopranos,  macaroni 
baritones.  It  was  rather  early,  and  quite  a  cool 
morning,  but  it  has  to  be  a  very  cold  day  at  Naples  and 
very  early  when  "Santa  Lucia"  gets  left  unsung. 

•Be- 
lt is  difficult  to  write  anything  new  about  Naples. 
Its  routine  sights  have  all  been  described  so  many  times 
that  it  would  be  wearisome  to  go  over  them  again.  But 
there  are  some  new  developments  in  governmental, 
official,  and  social  circles  there,  if  not  in  guide-book 
sights.  Official  corruption  is  probably  not  new  in 
Naples,  but  reform  apparently  is.  There  has  been  a 

[16] 


A  Boom  in  Naples 

reform  movement  going  on  in  Naples  now  for  some 
time,  led  by  a  Senator  Saredo,  who  has  conducted  an 
investigation.  Saredo  has  been  supported  by  the  king, 
and  all  manner  of  thievery  has  been  uncovered.  A 
system  of  sale  of  municipal  positions  was  exposed; 
supplies  purchased  for  the  city  were  diverted  into 
private  hands;  when  a  municipal  loan  was  floated 
hundreds  of  thousands  of  lire  stuck  to  official  fingers; 
large  sums  were  paid  to  municipal  officials  to  secure 
gas,  water,  and  street-railway  franchises.  At  the  very 
time  when  we  were  in  Naples  a  famous  novelist,  whose 
books  have  been  translated  into  many  languages,  was 
exposed  as  having  acted  as  a  go-between  in  the  sale  of 
positions  on  the  police  force  and  fire  department.  The 
newspapers  were  full  of  all  manner  of  accusations,  not 
only  attacking  prominent  officials,  but  also  smirching 
private  persons  high  in  rank.  Some  two  score  were 
under  indictment,  and  all  Naples  was  buzzing  with 
excitement. 

It  sounded  like  an  American  city  in  the  throes  of  a 
"municipal  reform  investigation."  Does  not  all  this 
seem  as  if  Naples  were  up  to  date  ? 

While  there  are  few  or  no  changes  in  the  sights  of 
Naples,  there  are  many  changes  in  its  life.  The  ven- 
erable Magna-Grecian  city  is  becoming  modernized. 
It  has  a  "boom."  And  the  Naples  "boom"  is  largely 
due  to  tourist  travel.  Every  now  and  again  you  see  a 
man  with  the  legend  "Pro  Napoli"  on  his  cap.  He  is 
not  a  guide,  but  the  paid  agent  of  a  "boom"  society 
started  in  Naples  within  the  last  year  or  so.  Its  ends 

[17] 


By  the  Way 

are  to  encourage  travel,  to  look  out  for  tourists,  to 
direct  them  to  hotels,  theatres,  public  buildings,  and 
other  places  of  interest,  and  generally  to  see  that  they 
are  not  robbed  by  the  cabmen,  guides,  touts,  and  other 
accomplished  crooks  with  whom  Naples  swarms.  I 
never  saw  a  city  which  needed  such  a  society  more.  It 
is  well  managed,  its  officers  being  some  of  the  best 
people  in  Naples.  They  are  highly  appreciative  of  the 
tourist  boom,  and  of  the  vast  amount  of  money  it  is 
bringing  them.  Naples  at  one  time  had  almost  no 
American  travel.  In  former  years  most  Americans 
went  to  Europe  by  the  northern  route;  if  they  travelled 
southward,  and  got  as  far  as  northern  Italy,  they  either 
grew  homesick,  or  went  broke,  and  were  obliged  to 
return.  In  the  old  days,  many  Americans  who  had 
often  been  abroad  had  never  visited  Italy  at  all.  Now 
the  Mediterranean  steamers  take  so  many  Americans 
to  Europe  that  Naples  is  often  their  first  stopping  place. 
As  a  result,  it  has  greatly  changed  in  the  last  ten  years. 
Now  many  cab-drivers  speak  English,  practically  all 
waiters  do,  and  you  find  many  little  boys  on  the  streets, 
selling  flowers  and  other  trifles,  who  speak  English 
fairly  well,  having  learned  it  in  the  night  schools.  The 
tourist  boom  has  brought  much  money  to  Naples,  and 
the  effect  is  seen  in  the  city.  There  are  many  new 
hotels  and  pensions  there,  as  well  as  other  new  build- 
ings. 

People  may  smile  at  the  idea  of  changes  in  so  ancient 
a  city  as  Naples,  but  even  old  cities  change.  The  rapid 
movement  of  our  time  is  shown  by  this  incident  of  street 

[18] 


Numerous  Motor  Vehicles 

traffic:  A  few  years  ago,  when  the  stream  of  vehicles 
was  returning  from  the  races,  the  police  divided  the 
Toledo  into  two  zones,  for  vehicles  bound  north  and 
south.  This  time  we  noticed  a  change.  The  police 
had  divided  the  street  into  three  zones,  a  wide  zone  in 
the  middle,  and  a  narrow  one  on  .either  hand.  We 
drove  out  to  meet  the  returning  race-goers.  As  the 
brilliant  line  came  in  from  the  races  the  carriages  en- 
tered the  Toledo  near  the  Museum,  thence  descending 
the  hill  on  the  west  side  of  the  street.  At  the  foot  of 
the  hill  they  turned  and  went  up  the  other  side,  which 
round  they  continued  for  an  hour  or  two  in  the  child- 
like Italian  fashion.  We  soon  discovered  the  reason 
for  the  wide  zone  in  the  centre  of  the  street.  Within 
three  years  automobiles  had  become  numerous  in 
Naples.  The  other  vehicles  went  at  a  walk,  but  the 
motor  cars  were  not  restricted  to  such  a  slow  pace. 
Therefore,  the  wide  zone  was  left  for  them,  as  well  as 
for  four-in-hands,  tandems,  and  vehicles  whose  drivers 
wished  to  return  at  a  rapid  rate  of  speed. 


When  you  are  travelling,  always  do  things  while  you 
can.  Never  wait.  Is  it  a  fair  day?  Go  and  do  the 
out-door  things.  Is  it  a  rainy  day?  Do  the  in-door 
things  —  the  churches,  the  galleries.  Do  you  see  in  a 
shop  window  some  trifle  you  want?  Stop  and  buy  it. 
Don't  put  it  off  —  you  may  never  see  it  again.  You 
will  always  want  that  trifle,  and  you  will  always  be 


By  the  Way 

sorry  you  didn't  get  it.  If  your  first  day  at  Naples  is  a 
rainy  day,  go  to  the  Museum  immediately;  if  the  first 
day  is  a  fine  day,  go  up  Vesuvius  at  once.  The  next 
day  the  Museum  may  be  closed,  or  there  may  be  an 
eruption  on  the  mountain,  or  you  may  drop  dead. 

On  our  last  visit  to  Naples  I  had  intended  to  secure 
a  collection  of  the  Naples  newspapers  and  pictorials, 
which  are  numerous.  I  have  rather  a  fancy  for  collect- 
ing newspapers.  A  newsboy  sold  papers  at  our  hotel, 
but  all  he  had  were  two  Italian  dailies  and  the  Paris 
Herald.  To  secure  the  pictorials  I  had  to  go  to  some 
of  the  little  news-stands  in  the  centre  of  the  city.  I  put 
it  off  from  day  to  day,  thinking  I  would  have  plenty  of 
time.  But  the  days  passed.  We  barely  succeeded, 
the  third  day  before  our  departure,  in  going  up  Vesu- 
vius. The  day  after  this  we  had  allotted  to  the  Mu- 
seum. True,  we  had  been  there  before,  but  it  is  one  of 
the  great  sights  of  Europe,  and  a  visit  there  is  never 
time  wasted.  But  when  we  alighted  at  the  door,  they 
had  just  installed  a  force  of  workmen  to  begin  repairs 
and  renovations;  visitors  were  not  allowed  to  enter; 
they  had  begun  only  that  morning;  we  were  just  one 
day  late. 

We  determined  to  walk  back  to  the  hotel,  so  that  I 
could  stop  on  the  way  and  buy  my  pictorials,  but  it 
began  to  rain,  and  we  took  a  cab.  As  the  cabman  was 
hired  by  the  course,  he  returned  by  the  shortest  route, 
which  did  not  pass  the  piazza  where  the  pictorials  were 
for  sale. 

The  next  day  we  were  out  all  day  at  Baia,  leaving 

[20] 


New  Hotels  of  Naples 

the  hotel  just  after  breakfast,  and  returning  about  sun- 
set. We  were  to  sail  at  midnight.  We  had  intended 
to  leave  our  hotel,  go  aboard  with  our  luggage,  "get 
settled,"  and  then  return  on  shore  to  dine  at  the  cafe. 
It  was  agreed  that,  after  dining  comfortably,  we  should 
sit  outside  the  cafe,  hear  the  band  play,  and  watch  the 
shifting,  picturesque,  Neapolitan  crowd  on  the  Chiaia 
and  the  Toledo.  Then  I  was  to  buy  my  pictorials,  and 
we  would  go  on  board.  It  was  an  excellent  programme. 
But  none  of  these  things  took  place.  When  we  took 
our  luggage  on  board,  darkness  was  falling.  Dinner 
was  ready  on  the  ship.  It  had  a  savory  aroma.  We 
wavered.  We  looked  at  the  distance  between  ship  and 
shore.  We  reflected  on  the  wrangling  boatmen  with 
their  demands  for  tips.  It  began  to  rain.  So  we  re- 
mained aboard,  and  I  never  got  my  pictorials. 


Another  change  in  Naples  is  the  number  of  new 
hotels.  Several  of  them  are  situated  in  an  elevated 
quarter,  through  which  runs  the  Corso  Vittorio  Em- 
manuele.  Some  of  these  new  hotels  command  much 
finer  views  than  those  down  on  the  bay  shore.  Still, 
both  quarters  have  their  good  points.  Up  on  the  hill 
the  new  hotels  have  finer  view,  better  air,  and  less  noise; 
down  on  the  bay  shore,  on  the  Villa  Nazionale,  the  Via 
Partenope,  the  Via  Caracciolo,  and  similar  localities, 
one  is  surrounded  with  the  life  of  the  Neapolitan  people 
—  likewise  their  noises  and  their  smells.  Still,  the 

[21] 


By  the  Way 

scenes  there  are  interesting  —  so,  too,  are  the  sights 
and  sounds  of  the  sea.  On  the  bay  shore  you  may 
from  your  hotel  windows  see  the  fishermen  drawing 
their  seines  full  of  silvery  fish.  The  fish  repertoire  at 
Naples  is  superb. 

To  sum  up  the  merits  of  the  two  localities:  if  you 
make  a  short  stay  in  Naples,  get  quarters  down  in  the 
city;  it  is  amusing  and  interesting  for  a  little  while. 
But  if  you  make  a  long  stay,  go  up  on  the  hill;  otherwise 
the  noise  and  bustle  will  weary  you. 

It  is  from  this  elevated  quarter,  where  the  new  hotels 
are  found,  that  the  Posilippo  drive  begins.  The  road 
to  Pozzuoli  and  Baia  runs  over  the  crest  of  the  Posi- 
lippo hill.  At  its  top  you  pass  a  lift  which  descends  to 
the  level  of  the  Piedigrotta  tunnels,  nearly  five  hundred 
feet  below.  Instead  of  going  over  the  hill,  you  may 
drive  through  the  grotto,  if  you  wish,  simply  as  a  new 
sensation.  The  old  tunnel,  which  dates  from  the  reign 
of  Augustus  Caesar,  is  now  closed  to  traffic.  A  new 
tunnel,  bored  some  years  ago,  is  three  quarters  of  a 
mile  long.  All  manner  of  legends  cling  around  the  old 
tunnel,  some  coming  from  the  Roman  times,  some  from 
the  superstitious  middle  ages.  The  tradition  that 
Virgil  practised  the  black  art  is  linked  with  this  tunnel. 
His  "tomb"  is  not  far  away.  There  is  certainly  food 
for  ghost  stories  here  —  I  wonder  how  many  foul 
crimes  have  been  committed  in  those  dark  and  gloomy 
vaults  ? 

The  village  of  Fuorigrotta  is  at  the  mouth  of  the 
tunnel,  and  the  carriage  road  runs  from  there  to  the 

[22] 


Alluring  Amphitheatres 

lake  of  Agnano,  an  ancient  crater.  Here  is  found  the 
famous  choke-damp  Dog  Grotto,  where  the  natives 
will  asphyxiate  a  dog  for  you  while  you  wait.  From 
here  the  drive  runs  to  Bagnoli,  to  Cumas,  to  Pozzuoli, 
near  which  is  a  solfaterra,  the  crater  of  a  half-extinct 
volcano.  Many  cracks  in  the  earth  are  to  be  seen,  from 
which  sulphurous  gases  ascend.  A  hungry-looking 
volcano  guide  tried  to  inveigle  me  into  walking  over 
this  crater,  but  after  having  nearly  burned  my  shoes  off 
at  Vesuvius,  I  could  not  be  tempted  by  a  ten-centime 
crater  like  this.  I  entertained  the  same  attitude  toward 
the  amphitheatre  of  Pozzuoli;  when  we  reached  the 
wire-barred  gateway  (admission,  one  franc),  and  an- 
other guide  tried  to  allure  me  with  the  story  of  its 
beauties,  I  remarked:  "Nay,  nay,  young  man,  nay, 
nay!  Within  a  short  time  I  have  been  dragged  by 
guides  around  the  Colosseum,  the  Stadium,  the  Pom- 
peiian  Amphitheatre  Within  The  Walls,  the  Pompeiian 
Amphitheatre  Without  The  Walls,  and  a  perfect  job- 
lot  of  small  assorted  amphitheatres,  even  the  names  of 
which  I  can  not  remember.  I  have  reached  my  limit 
in  amphitheatres.  This  is  the  limit  here  —  see  ?  It 
would  take  a  derrick  to  get  me  out  of  this  carriage.  Go 
chase  yourself!  Allez-vous  en!  Scat!" 

The  guide  was  not  fluent  in  English,  but  he  under- 
stood my  winged  words.  So  did  our  coachman,  who 
grinned  broadly  as  he  touched  up  his  horses.  I  did 
not  know  why  he  grinned,  but  when  we  drove  around 
a  corner,  up  a  slight  ascent,  and  then  saw  the  amphi- 
theatre spread  out  before  us  —  without  a  guide,  without 

[23] 


By  the  Way 

money,  and  without  price  —  I  understood  why  the 
coachman  grinned.  All  we  had  to  do  was  to  look  down 
the  hill.  There  are  many  such  small  swindles  to  be 
found  abroad. 

Apropos  of  amphitheatres,  I  once  in  Rome  encoun- 
tered in  the  Colosseum  a  fellow-tourist  who  was  seated 
like  Marius  on  a  broken  column  which  looked  like  the 
sawed-off  section  of  a  redwood  tree.  He  was  trying 
to  get  his  bearings  with  an  Italian  map  of  Rome.  He 
had  a  look  of  such  profound  bewilderment  that  I 
stopped  and  asked  him  if  I  could  be  of  any  help  to  him. 
His  countenance  lighted  up  immediately  at  the  familiar 
sound  of  American  English,  and  he  replied: 

"Why,  yes,  sir,  you  can,  for  a  fact.  Here's  a  map  I 
bought  from  a  pedler  up  street,  and  it's  all  in  Eyetalian. 
I  asked  him  to  show  me  the  Colosseum,  and  he  said 
that  this  was  it  all  right.  But  on  the  feller's  map  I  see 
this  place  has  another  name  —  A-N-F-I-T-E-A-T-R-O 
F-L-A-V-I-A-N-O.  Now  what  does  that  mean?  Is  this 
the  Colosseum  or  ain't  it?" 

"Yes,"  I  replied,  "you  are  in  the  Colosseum.  But 
I  believe  the  Italian  map-makers  generally  call  it  the 
Flavian  Amphitheatre." 

"The  h —  they  do!"  replied  my  aggrieved  com- 
patriot; "why  don't  they  call  it  by  its  c'rect  name?" 

I  had  just  been  on  the  point  of  adding:  " Don't  you 
remember  Macaulay's  famous  line  about  the  gladia- 
torial combats  and  wild-beast  shows  here  —  'when 
camelopards  bounded  in  the  Flavian  Amphitheatre1? 
But  after  this  blast,  I  concluded  that  my  friend  would 

[24] 


Stone  Walls  and  Roads 

not  recall  the  line,  so  instead  I  said  "good-day."  Ten 
minutes  afterward  I  saw  him  trying  to  climb  over  the 
locked  iron  gateway  which  shuts  off  the  public  from 
the  dark  vaults  under  the  arena,  which  are  "  forbidden." 
When  I  left  he  was  threatening  the  police  officer  who 
restrained  him,  with  the  vengeance  of  the  United  States. 


To  return  to  the  Pozzuoli  amphitheatre.  One  of 
the  curiosities  of  Southern  Europe  —  to  a  Western 
American  —  is  the  amount  of  stone- work  one  sees. 
Among  the  Italian  immigrants  there  are  large  numbers 
classed  as  muratori — "wall-builders";  they  are  forced 
to  seek  some  new  calling  in  the  United  States.  Nu- 
merous as  are  wall-builders  in  Italy,  thrifty  proprietors 
are  all  the  time  utilizing  old  walls.  Often  you  will  see 
an  ancient  wall  of  Roman  masonry  used  for  one  side  of 
a  house;  the  other  walls  will  be  modern,  and  of  con- 
crete. A  small  farmer  with  five  or  ten  acres  of  vines 
and  olives  will  have  his  dwelling  of  stone,  his  stable  of 
stone,  his  olive-press  and  wine-press  house  of  stone, 
his  out-houses  of  stone,  and  his  wall  or  enclosure  of 
stone.  You  drive  for  miles  between  walls  of  stone, 
and  often  over  a  roadway  of  solid  slabs  of  stone. 

Sometimes  these  labors  in  stone  are  appalling  to  us 
dwellers  in  a  land  where  labor  is  high.  For  example, 
in  driving  over  the  steep  roads  around  Naples,  you  will 
often  wind  up  a  hillside.  The  villas  are  terraced,  the 
roads  circuitous,  and,  of  course,  there  are  many  "short- 

[25] 


By  the  Way 

cuts"  or  "goat-paths,"  as  in  all  countries.  But  in  this 
land  of  cheap  labor  and  many  stone-cutters,  these 
"short-cuts"  are  nearly  all  elaborately  executed  steps 
in  stone.  Imagine  our  American  short-cuts  and  goat- 
paths  with  stone  steps!  In  the  United  States  we  gen- 
erally carve  out  our  goat-paths  with  our  own  hoofs. 
Sometimes  a  progressive  farmer  or  an  irritated  com- 
muter, who  has  slipped  on  a  slide  and  nearly  broken 
his  neck,  will  sally  forth  with  a  spade  and  cut  a  few  rude 
steps  in  the  bank.  Then  his  neighbors  will  jeer,  al- 
though they  do  not  scruple  to  use  his  primitive  stair. 

In  Italy,  you  may  even  see  stone  lips  where  streams 
fall  over  roadside  banks;  stone  basins  receive  the  waters 
at  the  bottom  of  the  fall;  stone  conduits  carry  them  all 
the  way,  if  the  bank  slopes  instead  of  being  perpen- 
dicular; stone  culverts  lead  the  waters  under  the  road- 
ways. In  the  Old  World  they  do  not  seem  to  build, 
as  we  do,  for  a  few  years.  They  build  for  posterity. 
In  so  many  generations  all  manner  of  solid  improve- 
ments have  remained,  like  the  famous  Roman  roads. 
The  Appian  Way  to-day  is  nearly  as  good  as  it  was  two 
thousand  years  ago.  We  modern  men  say:  "This  is 
all  due  to  slave  labor."  In  the  old  days  they  did  have 
slave  labor  in  the  Old  World,  but  they  left  colossal 
ruins  behind  them.  They  left  gigantic  tombs,  like  the 
Pyramids;  they  left  useful  monuments,  like  the  Appian 
Way.  In  the  New  World  we  had  slave  labor  for  a  hun- 
dred years,  but  what  permanent  thing  did  it  leave  be- 
hind ?  Slavery  left  us  a  good  many  things,  but  certainly 
not  a  roadway.  I  do  not  believe,  there  is  a  good  and 


Cosmopolitan  Villa-Owners 

durable  road  in  all  the  Southern  United  States,  with  the 
exception  of  a  few  miles  of  "shell- road,"  like  those  at 
Mobile  and  New  Orleans,  used  principally  by  people 
with  fat  purses  and  fine  horses. 

I  have  sometimes  thought  that  the  ruin  of  roadways 
by  electric  car  lines  was  peculiar  to  the  United  States. 
But  Europe  shows  me  that  I  am  mistaken.  They  are 
ruining  roads  here  with  their  electric  trams,  just  as  we 
do  at  home.  Along  the  fine  Corniche  Road  you  find 
electric  tramways  running  for  many  miles.  So  on  the 
beautiful  Posilippo  Road  around  the  Bay  of  Naples, 
the  electric  car  line  makes  driving  difficult  and  at  times 
dangerous.  A  tourist  agency  is  building  an  electric 
tram  line  from  Naples  to  Vesuvius,  but  they  have 
bought  a  private  right  of  way,  and  do  not  use  the  public 
roadway.  All  electric  lines  should  be  forced  to  do  the 
same.  Some  day  the  people  of  this  and  other  countries 
will  wake  up  and  find  that  they  have  given  away  their 
birthright  —  their  Highways  —  and  have  received  little 
in  return. 


In  driving  out  of  Naples  toward  Posilippo  you  pass 
all  manner  of  beautiful  villas.  One  with  very  hand- 
some grounds  about  it  attracting  my  attention,  I  asked 
the  coachman  who  owned  it,  supposing  it  was  some 
Neapolitan  nobleman.  He  told  me  that  a  German- 
Swiss,  ex-manager  of  the  Grand  Hotel  in  Naples,  re- 
tiring from  business  some  years  before,-  had  purchased 
this  beautiful  villa  across  the  hill  from  his  old  hotel. 

[37] 


By  the  Way 

The  coachman  added  that  he  had  begun  life  as  a  waiter. 
From  that  to  occupying  a  Posilippo  villa  on  the  shores 
of  the  most  beautiful  bay  in  the  world  is  quite  a  transi- 
tion. It  gives  one  an  idea  of  the  profits  of  hotel-keeping 
in  southern  Europe.  Another  beautiful  villa  is  the 
property,  so  the  coachman  told  us,  of  the  "Duke"  of 
Monaco.  Probably  he  meant  the  prince.  That  royal 
person  makes  so  much  money  out  of  his  Monte  Carlo 
gambling-hell  that  he  owns  palaces  all  over  Europe. 
Next  to  this  villa  is  the  property  of  the  Marchese  Patrizi, 
a  tract  of  several  acres  of  land,  enclosed  by  a  high  wall. 
This  wall  is  surmounted  by  a  tall  paling  or  fence,  on 
top  of  which  is  a  network  of  wires  with  electric  bells. 
The  whole  must  be  at  least  fifty  feet  high.  Our  coach- 
man said  that  all  this  elaborate  contrivance  was  merely 
a  protection  against  thieves.  Near  this  villa  is  a  still 
larger  tract  —  over  twenty  acres  —  covered  with  vines, 
olives,  oranges,  lemons,  mandarins,  and  bearing  every 
evidence  of  thrifty  husbandry.  Our  coachman  nearly 
dislocated  his  jaw  trying  to  pronounce  the  owner's 
name.  I  subsequently  found  it  belonged  to  a  York- 
shire man  named  Strickland,  and  had  been  in  his  family 
for  some  generations.  The  foregoing  apparently  un- 
important details  are  noted  here  to  show  how  cosmo- 
politan are  the  villa-owners  around  Naples.  Many 
of  the  modern  villas  are  erected  on  the  ruins  of  those 
once  occupied  by  such  famous  persons  of  antiquity  as 
Julius  Caesar,  Virgil,  Horace,  and  Cicero.  But  in 
these  our  degenerate  days  the  villas  are  not  occupied 
by  great  warriors,  great  statesmen,  or  great  poets. 


Italy's  Clever  Beggars 

They  are  nearly  all  owned  by  millionnaires  whose  sole 
distinction  is  their  money.  They  come  from  all  over 
Europe,  and  the  most  notable  among  the  villa-owners 
is  his  highness,  Albert,  by  the  grace  of  God  reigning 
prince  of  Monaco  and  lord  of  the  Monte  Carlo  gam- 
bling-hell. Other  times,  other  manners.  In  the  early 
Roman  days,  the  peoples'  heroes  were  warriors,  and 
out  of  them  they  made  demi-gods.  In  these  times  our 
only  demi-god  is  the  millionnaire. 

The  neighborbood  around  Baia  is  so  thickly  sown 
with  ruined  villas,  ancient  Roman  tombs,  and  ruins  of 
even  more  ancient  Etruscan  tombs,  antedating  the 
prehistoric  Roman  times,  that  this  must  be  indeed  a 
ghost-haunted  coast.  One  ruin  here  was  the  villa 
where  Nero  planned  the  murder  of  his  mother,  Agrip- 
pina;  in  another  lived  Lucullus;  still  another  belonged 
to  Tiberius. 


At  Baia  we  stopped  and  had  an  excellent  al  fresco 
luncheon  at  the  Hotel  Vittoria,  from  the  terrace  of  which 
we  could  gaze  across  the  beautiful  bay  toward  the 
islands  of  Procida  and  Ischia,  and  the  opposite  head- 
land, on  which  are  Sorrento  and  Castellamare.  When 
we  were  ready  to  leave  Baia  and  resume  our  drive,  I 
hailed  our  driver  from  the  balcony,  and  bade  him 
"hitch  up."  I  was  startled  by  the  crashing  chorus  of 
Echoes  which  arose  from  the  stone-walled  courtyard 
below.  But  the  Echoes  soon  became  visible  as  well  as 
audible  —  they  came  from  half  a  score  of  small  boys 

[39] 


By  the  Wqy 

who  had  rushed  to  call  our  coachman,  and  thus  to 
acquire  a  lien  upon  me  for  a  fee.  Unfortunately  they 
hailed  the  wrong  coachman.  Our  own  man,  hearing 
the  noise,  came  forth  from  a  corner  of  the  courtyard 
where  he  was  sleeping  in  the  sun,  and  proceeded  quietly 
to  harness  up  his  horses,  unnoticed  by  the  voluble 
young  Echoes.  When,  with  much  fracas,  they  had 
got  their  equipage  all  ready  it  turned  out  to  belong  to 
another  party,  who  were  not  yet  prepared  to  go.  Re- 
sult—  individual  and  aggregate  perplexity  of  the 
coachman  and  the  Echoes.  When  we  descended  to 
take  our  own  carriage,  the  Echoes  discovered  their 
error,  and  immediately  surrounded  us  in  a  serried 
phalanx.  But  they  were  doomed  to  disappointment. 
From  the  beginning,  I  had  noticed  one  silent  small  boy 
who  was  busily  engaged  in  helping  the  coachman  to 
harness  the  horses.  Doubtless  he  expected  something, 
but  if  so  he  said  nothing,  and  was  still  putting  straps 
into  buckles  as  we  approached.  I  took  a  handful  of 
coppers  from  my  pocket,  and  bade  the  Echoes  stand 
in  a  row.  They  had  crowded  in  a  little  girl  by  this 
time.  I  counted  the  noses  carefully,  methodically  laid 
out  one  copper  for  each  nose,  and  then,  when  their  eyes 
were  sparkling  with  greed,  I  suddenly  turned  and  pre- 
sented the  whole  handful  of  coppers  to  the  industrious 
youth  who  was  just  putting  the  last  buckle-tongue  into 
the  last  strap.  He  was  dazed  by  his  good  fortune,  but 
his  companions  were  indignant.  We  drove  away 
covered  with  execrations  from  the  Echoes. 

But  it  is  hard  to  beat  the  beggar  game  in  Italy.    A 

[30] 


Road  to  Pompeii 

fleet-footed  urchin  grabbed  the  girl,  and  bounded  like 
a  chamois  over  an  intervening  short-cut,  heading  us 
off  at  the  next  turn.  He  and  his  maiden  fell  into  a 
fox- trot  by  the  side  of  the  carriage. 

"Look,  noble  gentleman!"  he  began,  "look,  beauti- 
ful lady !  See  the  little  ragazza  —  the  poor  girl  —  have 
pity  on  her!  See,  noble  signer  —  you  can  not  refuse  to 
give  her  something  —  your  heart  is  too  good  —  you 
are  too  generous,  too  noble,  too  handsome,  to  refuse. 
Have  pity  on  her  dreadful  state,  for  look  —  she  has  one 
gray  eye  and  one  Hack  onel" 

We  stopped  the  carriage.  It  was  true.  The  maiden 
had  indeed  parti-colored  eyes,  in  addition  to  which  she 
rejoiced  in  a  most  appalling  squint.  I  gave  her  one 
copper.  Hereupon  her  escort  set  up  a  howl  at  being 
ignored. 

"But  why  should  you  have  anything?"  I  asked. 

"You  ought  to  give  me  two  coppers,"  he  replied, 
with  a  twinkle,  "for  I  have  two  black  eyes,  and  she  has 
only  one." 

I  was  vanquished.  I  gave  him  his  two  coppers.  I 
don't  believe  in  beggars,  but  I  think  he  earned  them. 


Among  the  many  drives  around  Naples,  the  one  next 
in  interest  to  the  Posilippo  drive  is  that  at  the  other  or 
eastern  end  of  the  city,  leading  toward  the  ruins  of  Her- 
culaneum  and  Pompeii.  This  drive  passes  through  a 
poorer  quarter  of  the  city,  where  the  natives  live  largely 


By  the  Way 

out  of  doors,  and  indulge  in  various  functions  of  life 
usually  conducted  not  only  in-doors  but  behind  doors. 
These  sights  do  not  cease  with  the  limits  of  Naples,  for 
the  high-road  is  like  a  city  street  many  miles  long.  In 
fact,  all  the  way  to  Pompeii,  a  distance  of  eighteen 
miles,  there  are  houses  and  shops  on  both  sides  of  the 
road  for  nearly  every  rod  of  the  way.  When  going  up 
Vesuvius  by  the  funicular  railway,  you  leave  the  main 
road  at  Resina,  which  is  not  far  from  Naples.  When 
going  to  Pompeii,  you  follow  quite  closely  the  curving 
shore  of  the  bay. 

At  the  boundary  of  Naples  is  the  Octroi  barrier,  a 
point  where  the  tax  must  be  paid  on  foods,  liquors,  and 
other  dutiable  goods.  Everybody  is  stopped,  including 
tourists.  But  this  morning  we  noted  an  exception  to 
the  usual  rigid  examination  when  we  saw  a  herd  of 
goats  being  driven  into  Naples,  and  a  herd  of  soldiers 
being  driven  out.  Although  the  goats  carried  milk  for 
sale,  it  was  not  yet  in  such  shape  that  the  government 
could  tax  it,  so  they  were  allowed  to  proceed.  As  for 
the  soldiers,  they  were  not  going  in  the  taxable  direc- 
tion, so  they,  too,  were  not  stopped.  I  was  struck  by 
some  points  of  resemblance  as  the  herd  of  goats  and 
the  herd  of  soldiers  met  at  the  Octroi  barrier.  Neither 
knew  where  they  were  going,  but  the  goats  knew  what 
for  —  they  did  not  know  they  were  going  to  Naples, 
but  they  knew  they  were  going  to  be  milked.  The 
soldiers  neither  knew  where  they  were  going,  nor  what 
for. 

All  along  the  road  the  walls  were  covered  with  elec- 

[32] 


Pompeii  and  Vesuvius 


Macaroni  along  the  Pompeii  Road 


^     OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


Election  Placards 

tion  placards.  As  we  passed  through  the  village  of 
San  Giovanni,  everywhere  we  saw  copies  of  a  staring 
poster  addressed,  "To  The  San  Giovanni  Electors!" 
It  was  a  bitter  denunciation  of  the  doings  of  the  local 
town  council  concerning  sewers.  It  was  signed  by  a 
number  of  gentlemen  who  professed  the  purest,  most 
elevated,  and  entirely  disinterested  motives,  but  who 
apparently  wished  to  be  town  councillors  themselves. 
When  we  entered  the  town  of  Resina,  we  saw  many 
copies  of  a  placard  headed  "To  The  Resina  Electors!" 
This  denunciation  concerned  the  delinquencies  of  the 
Resina  officials,  who  control  the  roads  up  the  mountain, 
the  guides,  the  horses,  and  the  tourists'  fees.  Mount 
Vesuvius  is  in  the  Commune  of  Resina,  and  these  offi- 
cials evidently  have  choice  pickings.  Another  placard 
was  a  personal  one.  It  was  signed  by  a  certain  Cava- 
lier Luigi  Montanari.  The  cavalier,  it  seems,  was  a 
candidate  for  office,  and  some  election  slanders  had 
been  set  afloat  concerning  his  birth.  We  drove  by  so 
rapidly  that  I  did  not  quite  get  the  gist  of  these  slanders, 
as  they  were  printed  in  small  type,  but  the  cavalier,  in 
order  to  refute  them,  had  printed  a  notarial  copy  of  his 
birth  certificate  in  large  poster  type.  This  momentous 
event  dated  from  1841.  Surely  the  Cavalier  Luigi  is 
old  enough  not  to  get  excited  over  election  slanders. 

It  is  curious  when  one  enters  Pompeii,  after  reading 
these  election  placards  all  the  way  from  Naples,  to  find 
exactly  similar  addresses  to  the  populace,  concerning 
the  merits  and  demerits  of  Pompeiian  ediles,  cut  into 
the  stuccoed  walls  two  thousand  years  ago. 

[33] 


By  the  Way 

The  drive  from  Naples  toward  Pompeii,  as  already 
noted,  is  almost  a  continuous  street.  The  first  village 
is  San  Giovanni.  Next  comes  Portici,  a  town  of  over 
ten  thousand  inhabitants;  it  touches  the  confines  of 
Resina,  a  place  of  some  thirteen  thousand  population. 
Resina  is  built  on  the  lava  beds  which  cover  Hercu- 
laneum.  Few  tourists  visit  Herculaneum  —  it  is  dark, 
damp,  and  gloomy.  The  doorway  which  leads  to  the 
ruins  is  on  the  main  street  of  Resina.  Over  it  is  the 
sign  "Scavi  di  Ercolano"  —  "Excavations  of  Hercu- 
laneum." We  stopped  to  gaze,  and  the  gaunt  and 
hungry  Herculaneum  custodians  looked  at  us  eagerly. 
They  scented  a  centime  or  two,  but  we  shook  our  heads, 
and  they  sank  back  again.  Few  people  visit  Hercu- 
laneum, and  those  who  do  so  rarely  return.  It  is  under- 
ground, and  as  Herculaneum  was  buried  under  "lava 
de  acqua,"  a  kind  of  mud,  as  well  as  ashes,  it  is  difficult 
to  excavate.  It  is  now  maintained  that  the  city  was 
not  covered  with  igneous  lava,  or  solid  rock,  as  many 
believe.  But  Herculaneum  is  cold,  dark,  damp,  and 
subterranean,  while  Pompeii  is  light,  bright,  and  in  the 
open  air.  Furthermore,  Herculaneum  has  always  been 
rather  a  disappointment.  It  was  first  discovered 
through  a  deep  well  or  shaft,  which  was  being  sunk  for 
water;  this  shaft  tapped  the  theatre,  and  the  bottom  of 
the  shaft  dropped  into  the  auditorium.  Naturally,  the 
first  finds  were  very  rich  —  the  theatre,  its  lobbies,  and 
its  annexes  were  crowded  with  interesting  material. 
Adjoining  this,  too,  was  the  villa  of  Calpurnius  Piso, 
evidently  a  wealthy  collector,  for  his  villa  was  full  of 

[34] 


To  Excavate  Herculaneum 

objects  of  great  artistic  interest  and  value.  Here  a 
number  of  charred  rolls  of  papyri  were  found,  and  the 
learned  world  grew  excited;  visions  rose  before  them  of 
the  lost  love-lyrics  of  Sappho,  the  lost  decades  of  Livy's 
books,  the  lost  epics  of  Callimachus,  Apollonius,  and 
the  other  Greek  poets  of  Alexandria's  golden  age.  But 
the  charred  papyri  were  almost  charcoal.  An  ingenious 
Italian  priest  invented  a  method  of  unrolling  them, 
however,  and  they  were  slowly  deciphered.  The  first 
turned  out  to  be  a  dull  treatise  on  algebra,  the  second 
a  duller  attack  on  music,  so  the  excitement  of  the  learned 
world  abated.  Since  then  interest  in  Herculaneum 
has  languished. 

It  is  now  reviving,  and  an  attempt  is  being  made  to 
raise  funds  all  over  the  world  to  continue  the  excava- 
tions. Italy  is  too  poor  to  attempt  the  work  alone. 
The  projectors  of  the  scheme  say  that  Herculaneum  is 
infinitely  richer  than  Pompeii  in  works  of  art,  libraries, 
and  buildings  of  architectural  interest,  and  that  the  dif- 
ficulties of  excavating  have  been  much  exaggerated. 

Even  in  Pompeii,  only  about  one  half  of  the  city  has 
been  brought  to  the  light  of  day.  When  tourists  from 
other  lands  complain  of  this,  they  should  remember 
that  United  Italy  is  new  and  not  rich,  and  that  she  has 
enough  to  do  looking  out  for  living  interests  rather  than 
dead  ones.  Besides,  if  foreign  tourists  want  Pompeii 
excavated  more  rapidly,  they  can  have  it  done  by  paying 
for  it.  Only  about  forty  thousand  francs  a  year  come 
in  for  admission  fees  at  Pompeii.  At  Herculaneum 
the  annual  admission  fees  amount  to  almost  nothing. 

[35] 


By  the  Way 

Beyond  Resina  is  Torre  del  Greco,  which  contains 
over  twenty-five  thousand  people.  This  town  has  been 
destroyed  by  the  lava  streams  half  a  dozen  times  in  the 
last  three  centuries.  The  next  town  is  Torre  Annun- 
ziata,  with  seventeen  thousand  inhabitants.  Next  we 
reach  Pompeii. 

I  have  spoken  of  the  changes  in  new  Naples.  There 
are  few  changes  in  Pompeii,  but  there  are  some  on  the 
road.  When  I  drove  from  Naples  to  Pompeii,  some 
ten  years  ago,  I  remember  that  macaroni  drying  in  the 
sun  lined  the  way  for  most  of  the  distance;  little  dogs 
frisked  back  and  forth  between  the  swaying  curtains  of 
macaroni,  and  occasionally  a  yellow  pup  would  poise 
his  head  on  one  side  and  coyly  gaze  at  us  with  the 
macaroni  portiere  hanging  on  either  side  of  his  shoul- 
ders. There  and  then  I  lost  my  taste  for  macaroni. 
Previously,  I  had  been  rather  fond  of  it.  But  never 
again  in  Italy  did  I  touch  that  agreeable  food. 

Travelling  is  paradoxical :  this  trivial  thing  impressed 
me  more  than  some  picturesque  sights  —  the  mighty 
mountain  Vesuvius,  with  its  black  cone  and  its  other 
peak,  Mount  Somma ;  the  buried  cities  over  which  we 
were  driving;  the  sweep  of  the  beautiful  bay,  with 
Capri,  Ischia,  and  Procida,  and  the  headland  of 
Posilippo  —  true,  I  remembered  all  of  these  things, 
but  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  remembered  more  vividly 
the  miles  of  macaroni  and  the  little  dogs.  This  time 
I  saw  very  little  macaroni  and  no  dogs  at  all.  Could 
I  have  dreamed  my  previous  experience? 

These  questions  vastly  puzzled  me  until  I  interrogated 

[36] 


Choo-Choo  Charley 

our  driver.  His  answers  relieved  me  extremely:  of 
recent  years,  he  said,  it  has  been  found  more  profitable 
to  manufacture  macaroni  by  machinery.  Hence  it 
has  largely  disappeared  from  the  dwellings  of  the  poor, 
who  used  to  hang  it  in  the  backyard  to  dry  along  with 
the  family  wash. 


Among  the  new  things  we  noted  in  Naples,  there  was 
a  newly  arrived  American  family.  We  met  them  in  the 
winter  garden  of  the  Grand  Hotel.  They  had  just 
reached  town  the  day  before,  and  were  leaving  the  day 
after.  Choo-Choo  Charley  (let  us  call  him)  had  been 
dragging  his  "women  folks"  up  and  down  and  around 
the  hills  of  Naples  till  poor  Mrs.  Choo-Choo  was  as 
limp  as  a  rag.  But  Choo-Choo  Charley  himself  was 
in  fine  fettle.  I  asked  him  what  he  thought  of  Naples. 

"Naples,"  he  replied  oracularly,  "is  a  fine  town. 
We  have  not  had  time  to  do  it  as  thoroughly  as  I  could 
wish,  for  one  day  is  scarcely  enough,  even  for  a  small 
city.  Still,  we  have  been  to  Pompeii,  went  up  the 
mountain  far  enough  to  say  we  had  done  Vesuvius, 
drove  rapidly  to  Sorrento,  spent  ten  minutes  there,  ten 
minutes  at  Castellamare,  caught  the  little  steamer 
Nixie,  and  got  back  just  in  time  for  dinner.  The 
madam  is  a  little  tired  "  —  indicating  Mrs.  Choo-Choo, 
who  smiled  faintly  —  "but  the  girly  here  is  all  right, 
and  so  is  yours  truly." 

"May  I  ask,"  said  I,  "what  your  movements  are, 
after  having  explored  Naples  so  thoroughly?" 

[37] 


By  the  Way 

"I  propose,"  said  Choo-Choo,  "after  we  have  done 
Greece,  the  archipelago,  the  blue  ^Egean  Sea,  the  Ionian 
Isles,  and  that  sort  of  thing,  to  which  I  have  allotted 
four  days  —  I  propose  to  go  to  Egypt.  We  stop  at 
Alexandria  for  four  hours,  and  then  go  to  Cairo,  re- 
maining there  over  night.  We  shall  go  up  the  Nile  as 
far  as  the  third  cataract  —  three  days  up,  one  day 
there,  and  three  days  down.  I  have  allotted  a  day  and 
a  half  for  doing  Cairo,  the  Sphinx,  the  Pyramids,  the 
Boulak  Museum,  and  old  Cairo,  leaving  half  a  day  for 
travelling  to  Port  Said  to  catch  the  post-office  boat 
Osiris.  I  take  her  because  she  is  much  faster  than  the 
ordinary  P.  and  O.  boats.  We  shall  arrive  at  Brindisi 
at  4:25  P.M.,  March  steenth,  and  I  intend  to  do  the 
Italian  peninsula  in  about  seven  days.  Skip  Naples  — 
one  day  and  a  half  for  Rome  —  one  day  for  Florence 

—  half  a  day  for  Milan  —  a  day  for  the  Italian  lakes 

—  the  rest  for  train-time,  loafing,  sleeping,  meals,  etc., 
winding  up  with  half  a  day  for  Venice,  where  we  shall 
sail  for  Trieste.    We  then  do  the  Balkan  peninsula  in 
about  four  days,  reaching  Vienna  by  March  the  umpty- 
umpt.    Here,"    said    Choo-Choo    Charley   gravely  — 
"here  we  may  consider  that  we  have  got  fairly  started, 
and  we  shall  take  up  continental  Europe." 

Mrs.  Choo-Choo  looked  at  him,  sighed,  and  closed 
her  eyes. 

"From  Vienna  we  go  north,"  said  he;  "Munich, 
Nuremberg,  Dresden,  Hamburg  —  a  day  in  each  of  the 
capitals,  half  a  day  in  lesser  towns.  I  think  we  can 
knock  out  continental  Europe  in  about  four  weeks, 

[38] 


Lightning  Tourists 

and  then  I  intend  to  tackle  the  Land  of  the  Midnight 
Sun." 

At  this  moment  a  bell  rang.  Some  gorgeous  German 
flunkeys  and  the  plainer  hotel  lackeys  lined  up  along 
the  grand  staircase;  the  porters  rapidly  unrolled  a  strip 
of  crimson  carpet  from  the  staircase  to  the  street.  Down 
the  staircase  came  the  short  and  stumpy  but  majestic 
form  of  his  Serene  Highness  the  Grand  Duke  of  Pum- 
pernickel, who  was  going  forth  in  his  chariot  to  take 
the  air. 

Choo-Choo  Charley  rapidly  coupled  on  the  girly  and 
Mrs.  Choo-Choo,  blew  a  grade-crossing  blast  on  his 
nasal  whistle,  threw  the  throttle  wide  open,  and,  with 
full  steam  on,  dashed  through  the  crowd  to  see  the  sight. 

I  tried  to  flag  him  to  say  good-by,  but  my  farewells 
were  lost  in  the  Choo-Choo  whirl. 


To  visit  Naples  does  not  always  mean  that  one  may 
visit  Vesuvius.  Although  Vesuvius  is  generally  at 
home,  one  may  "visit"  the  volcano  without  being 
always  received.  I  say  "generally"  at  home,  for  when 
the  volcanic  monster  comes  forth  from  his  igneous 
caverns,  and  goes  calling  on  the  cities  and  towns  around 
the  base  of  the  mountain,  I  suppose  he  may  be  said  to 
be  "out."  But  that  is  a  subtle  point  in  volcano  eti- 
quette. 

Yes,  one  may  visit  Vesuvius  without  being  received. 
Such  has  been  our  experience.  On  our  first  visit  to 

[39] 


By  the  Way 

Naples,  the  mountain  was  not  receiving.  A  mild  erup- 
tion had  just  taken  place.  As  a  result,  the  authorities 
had  forbidden  the  ascent  of  the  volcano.  Soldiers  and 
constabulary  surrounded  the  base  of  the  mountain. 
It  is  true  that  daring  young  tourists,  American  and 
English,  were  trying  to  break  through  the  cordon,  and 
were  daily  getting  jailed.  But  as  I  had  an  imperfect 
appreciation  of  the  delights  of  Italian  prisons,  it  re- 
quired little  persuasion  from  the  police  to  keep  me  from 
ascending  the  mountain. 

When  next  we  were  at  Naples,  the  weather  in  sunny 
Italy  was  not  so  sunny  as  it  might  have  been.  Clouds 
encircled  the  mighty  mountain,  and  up  above  them  the 
vast  cone  was  covered  with  a  cap  of  snow.  For  many 
days  a  cold,  raw  rain  poured  down  upon  sunny  Naples. 
Occasionally  the  rain  ceased  for  a  few  minutes,  when  it 
hailed.  This  time  the  authorities  again  forbade  the 
ascent  of  the  mountain  —  at  least  above  the  Observa- 
tory, down  to  which  the  snow-cap  ran;  below  the  Ob- 
servatory nobody  cared  to  go.  Thus  it  happened  that 
it  was  only  possible  for  us  to  visit  Vesuvius  after  having 
visited  Naples  several  times. 

The  road  out  of  Naples  toward  Vesuvius  is  the  same 
route  that  one  follows  to  reach  Pompeii.  When  intend- 
ing to  go  up  the  mountain  the  tourist  leaves  the  Pompeii 
road  at  Resina,  the  modern  city  which  overlies  Hercu- 
laneum.  Apropos  of  these  two  ancient  towns,  it  is 
remarkable  how  many  people  seem  to  think  them  the 
only  buried  cities  in  the  vicinity.  In  fact,  there  are 
many.  Next  to  these  two  familiar  ones,  the  one  whose 

[40] 


Many  Buried  Cities 

name  is  most  frequently  heard  is  Stabiae.  Then  there 
is  Cumae,  the  oldest  Greek  colony  in  Italy;  Baia,  a 
watering-place  resort  of  the  Roman  swells  in  the  first 
year  of  our  Lord;  Parthenope,  Palaeopolis,  and  Neapolis, 
three  buried  cities  lying  under  modern  Naples,  from 
the  last  of  which  it  took  its  name ;  Dikearkia  (later  called 
Puteoli,  now  Pozzuoli),  another  Greek  city  of  large 
wealth  and  with  much  commerce;  Capua,  one  of  the 
great  military  posts  of  ancient  Rome,  now  covered  by  a 
modern  city,  also  a  garrison;  and  Suessola,  whose  medi- 
cinal springs  held  high  repute  among  the  gouty  epicures 
of  the  Roman  time. 

Cataclysmic  have  been  the  earth's  throes  around  that 
laboring  monster,  Vesuvius,  for  some  of  these  buried 
cities,  which  were  great  seaports  two  thousand  years 
ago,  are  now  far  inland.  On  the  other  hand,  off  shore 
at  Baia,  you  may  look  down  from  a  boat  when  in  smooth 
water,  and  discover  ancient  houses  and  streets  far  below 
you  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  Some  of  these  buried 
cities  were  much  larger  and  more  important  places  than 
either  Pompeii  or  Herculaneum.  Yet  to  many  travel- 
lers their  names  seem  unfamiliar. 

We  quit  the  Pompeii  road  at  Resina,  just  over  the 
entrance  to  the  gloomy  ruins  of  Herculaneum.  We 
soon  leave  the  town  of  Resina  behind  us,  but  not  its 
officials,  for  the  communal  authority  extends  clear  up 
to  the  crater.  We  wind  up  the  mountain  side,  amid 
vineyards  and  olive  orchards,  and  at  every  vineyard 
gate  a  hard-featured  peasant  woman,  with  an  unpleas- 
ant smile,  offers  us  the  "genuine"  Lacrimae  Cristi  wine. 


By  the  Way 

Experienced  mountain-climbers  are  said  to  avoid  it 
when  going  up,  or  they  never  "get  there."  I  should 
avoid  it  coming  down,  for  similar  reasons.  It  is  very 
fiery,  strong,  and  heady;  a  Montague  intending  to  stab  a 
Capulet  might  find  it  useful  as  a  stimulant,  but  I  should 
scarcely  recommend  it  as  a  table  wine. 

Our  road  repeatedly  crosses  the  great  lava  stream 
of  1872.  The  government  road  ends  at  a  point  about 
2,400  feet  above  the  sea,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  beyond  the 
Observatory.  Here  a  private  road  begins,  running  for 
about  two  miles  to  the  lower  station  of  the  funicular 
railway;  this  road  was  built  in  1880  by  the  French  com- 
pany which  constructed  the  wire  railway.  Since  1888, 
both  this  carriage  road  and  the  wire  railway  have  be- 
longed to  the  Cook  tourist  agency.  The  lower  end  of 
the  railway  is  2,600  feet  above  the  sea.  The  railway 
itself  is  2,600  feet  long,  and  the  upper  end  is  1,300  feet 
higher  than  the  lower.  The  altitude  of  the  highest 
point  on  the  cone  of  Mount  Vesuvius  varies.  Up  to  a 
recent  period  it  was  4,300  feet,  but  since  the  eruption  of 
eight  years  ago  the  cone  has  been  slowly  sinking.  It  is 
now  some  200  feet  lower  than  in  1895. 

There  is  a  good  deal  of  grumbling  among  tourists 
over  the  "carriage-road  monopoly,"  but  I  confess  I  do 
not  see  why.  There  can  be  no  "monopoly"  on  a 
mountain  the  size  of  Vesuvius.  Besides,  this  turnpike 
is  like  any  other  private  road  —  one  must  pay  toll.  The 
landlords  of  the  Hotel  Suisse  and  the  Hotel  Diomede 
at  Pompeii  have  both  constructed  private  bridle-paths 
up  the  mountain,  for  using  which  paths  people  have  to 

[42] 


Vesuvian  Toll-Roads 

pay.  If  the  tourist  does  not  like  to  pay  toll  on  these 
private  roads,  he  can  blaze  a  trail  of  his  own;  there  is 
certainly  a  good  deal  of  mountain  there  for  him  to 
select  from  —  it  is  about  thirty  miles  around.  The 
tourist  agency  takes  a  traveller  from  Naples  to  the 
top  of  the  cone  and  back  (carriage  and  railway  fare  and 
guide  fees  included)  for  21  francs.  If  the  tourist  does 
not  come  in  their  carriages,  they  charge  him  18  francs 
for  the  railway  fare  alone,  and  5  francs  toll  for  the  use 
of  the  carriage  road;  this  makes  23  francs  to  the  tourist 
agency,  in  addition  to  what  he  pays  for  his  non-agency 
carriage;  this  latter  conveyance  will  cost  him  say  25 
francs,  or  a  total  of  48  francs.  The  tourist  agency  also 
charges  pedestrians  5  francs  toll  over  its  carriage  road. 
The  mountain-climbers  who  are  footing  it,  and  are 
confronted  with  this  toll,  are  thereby  plunged  into  a 
state  of  frenzy.  But  if  I  were  an  ardent  mountain- 
climber  (which  I  am  not),  I  think  I  would  climb  "across 
lots,"  instead  of  taking  the  easy  way  of  a  tourist  turn- 
pike. 

Lest  this  be  construed  as  sneering  at  the  ardent 
mountain-climber,  I  may  explain  that  the  Vesuvius 
ascent  is  probably  fatiguing,  but  it  is  neither  dangerous 
nor  difficult.  For  that  matter,  it  is  fatiguing  even  to 
ascend  the  mountain  in  a  carriage,  for  it  is  a  long,  dusty, 
and  tiresome  trip.  Lest  some  one  should  cry  out  upon 
me  for  a  Vesuvian  vandal,  let  me  add  that  I  do  not  for- 
get the  view.  The  view  from  Vesuvius  is  indeed  mag- 
nificent, but  to  crawl  up  a  steep  and  dusty  mountain 
road  for  several  hours  behind  two  horses  at  a  slow  walk 

[43] 


By  the  Way 

does  not  strike  me  as  exhilarating.  The  descent  is 
infinitely  more  pleasurable ;  the  winding  turns  are  made 
more  rapidly,  the  view  of  mountains  and  islands,  cities 
and  sea,  changes  at  every  minute.  In  short,  the  ascent 
is  not  an  unalloyed  pleasure,  but  the  descent  is  pure  joy. 

In  this  matter  of  mountain-climbing  I  will  admit  that 
I  am  a  non-climber  without  shame.  I  have  such  low 
tastes  that  I  am  glad  there  is  a  funicular  railway  up  the 
volcano,  or  I  never  should  have  got  to  the  top.  If  I 
were  to  go  again,  I  would  expect  to  travel  the  whole 
distance  in  forty  minutes  by  an  electric  railway  for  a 
moderate  sum,  instead  of  spending  four  or  five  hours, 
paying  thirty  or  forty  francs,  and  crawling  in  a  carriage 
behind  two  tired  horses  up  the  mountain  side.  When 
I  was  there  last,  the  tourist  agency  people  were  building 
an  electric  railway  all  the  way  from  Naples  to  the  foot 
of  the  funicular  railway,  which  they  already  own.  It 
was  to  be  completed  for  the  next  season  of  tourist  travel; 
it  is,  I  believe,  in  operation  now.  Those  horrified  people 
who  cry  out  in  indignation  at  going  all  the  way  up 
Vesuvius  by  rail  need  not  get  excited:  there  are  roads 
and  trails  there  still.  If  you  do  not  like  the  railway, 
you  can  drive  on  the  turnpike.  If  you  do  not  want  to 
pay  toll  on  the  turnpike,  you  can  travel  by  trail.  If  that 
is  too  easy,  you  can  hoof  it  across  the  lava  beds. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  I  advise  tourists  to  join 
the  " personally  conducted"  parties  who  are  taken  from 
Naples  up  to  the  crater,  four  in  a  carriage,  at  a  fixed 
price.  I  have  no  doubt  that  they  get  good  value  for 
their  money.  Personally,  I  object  to  being  jammed 

[44] 


Tourist  Agencies 

into  a  carriage  with  job-lots  of  total  strangers  all  day. 
Many  people  do  not  object  to  this,  and  with  them  I 
have  no  quarrel.  I  would  rather  pay  more  and  have  a 
whole  carriage  —  less  company  and  more  room.  Bad 
taste  possibly,  but  I  can't  help  it.  But  I  do  advise 
tourists  to  hire  their  carriages  from  the  tourist  agency. 
They  will  give  you  whatever  you  choose  to  pay  for  — 
from  a  one-horse  victoria  to  a  six-in-hand  wagonette. 
Furthermore,  they  have  the  pick  of  the  Naples  horses 
and  vehicles ;  if  the  tourist  doubts  this,  and  tries  to  hire 
something  on  "his  own  hook,"  he  either  falls  heir  to 
the  agency's  leavings,  or  gets  hold  of  drivers  whom 
they  have  dropped  for  extortion. 

There  is  a  good  deal  of  cheap  depreciation  of  tourist 
agencies.  But  I  observe  that  those  who  sneer  most 
loudly  at  them,  when  in  London  or  Paris,  are  the  most 
dependent  on  the  agencies  when  in  out-of-the-way 
places.  And  with  reason,  for  it  would  be  almost  im- 
possible for  the  average  tourist  to  make  his  way  about 
at  all  in  some  Oriental  countries  without  the  aid  of  the 
agencies.  In  Palestine,  even  William  the  War  Lord 
was  obliged  to  rely  for  saddle-animals,  and  transporta- 
tion facilities  generally,  on  a  tourist  agency.  The 
British  War  Office  also  used  them  to  transport  troops 
from  Lower  Egypt  to  the  Soudan. 

At  Vesuvius  the  agency  owning  the  funicular  have 
completely  revolutionized  the  conditions  which  pre- 
viously rendered  the  ascent  intolerable.  Not  only  have 
they  also  built  a  new  electric  railway,  but  they  have 
shown  great  enterprise  in  operating  the  funicular  rail- 

[45] 


By  the  Way 

way,  subject  as  it  is  to  many  accidents  of  various  kinds. 
Three  times  when  I  have  been  at  Naples  the  road  has 
been  temporarily  stopped:  once  it  had  been  buried  by 
the  drifting  cinders,  another  time  it  was  covered  with 
snow,  and  on  the  third  occasion  the  upper  end  had  been 
wrecked  by  an  eruption.  In  addition  to  providing 
mechanical  means  for  aiding  travellers,  the  tourist 
agency  has  also  shielded  them  from  the  attacks  of  the 
natives.  The  various  communes  around  and  upon 
the  mountain  have  always  lived  on  the  travellers.  For 
generations  they  have  despoiled  tourists  at  their  own 
sweet  will,  and  they  now  resent  their  being  protected. 
But  the  tourist  agency  has  brought  them  into  some  sort 
of  order,  so  that  it  is  possible  to  ascend  the  mountain 
without  being  robbed. 


All  the  way  up  the  mountain  side  we  were  haunted 
by  mysterious  music.  Whenever  we  approached  a 
bend  in  the  road,  there  would  arise  from  behind  a  wall 
the  sounds  of  "  Santa  Lucia,"  or  sometimes  "Funiculae, 
funicula."  When  we  got  round  the  corner  of  the  wall 
we  would  find  a  band  of  wandering  minstrels,  ener- 
getically scraping  fiddles,  plucking  on  harps,  or  blowing 
on  brass  horns;  sometimes  even  the  humble  piano-organ 
was  lying  in  wait  for  us  behind  great  blocks  of  lava,  and 
would  suddenly  burst  forth  into  volumes  of  more  or 
less  sweet  sound.  But  whenever  I  shook  my  head  and 
waved  a  negative  finger,  saying,  "Niente,  niente" 
(Italian  for  "nit"),  there  would  be  a  sudden  silence, 

[46] 


Orpheus  on  Vesuvius 

and  the  musicians  would  disappear.  The  number  of 
times  I  terminated  the  strains  of  "Santa  Lucia"  be- 
tween Resina  and  the  Observatory  would  be  almost 
beyond  belief  were  I  to  enumerate  them.  So  numerous 
were  these  mountain  musicians  that  I  had  my  arm  in 
the  air  nearly  all  the  time.  I  began  to  feel  like  an 
orchestra  conductor.  In  fact,  considering  my  destina- 
tion, my  orchestral  occupation,  and  that  I  was  bound 
toward  the  sulphur-and-brimstone  hole  on  top  of  Ve- 
suvius, I  might  have  been  likened  to  Orpheus  on  the 
road  to  Hades.  But  on  second  thoughts  the  compari- 
son would  not  hold,  for  while  Orpheus  was  moving  the 
very  rocks  to  music,  I  was  moving  the  music  back  to 
the  rocks  again. 

At  the  top  of  the  long  drive  up  the  mountain  is  an  inn 
where  an  excellent  luncheon  can  be  obtained.  There, 
are  the  usual  photographs  for  sale,  and  the  usual  regis- 
ter, or  "album,"  in  which  nobodies  have  written  noth- 
ings—  "Thoughts  on  first  seeing  Vesuvius,  by  Mrs. 
Lemuel  Aminidab  Doolittle,  Moosatockmaguntic, 
Maine,  U.  S.  A.,"  or,  "Pense*es  sur  la  baie  de  Naples, 
par  Jeanne  Groseille  Poirier,  en  voyage  de  noces  avec 
son  cher  mari,  Hector  Achille  Poirier,  epicier  en  gros, 
Pont-a-Mousson,  France." 

The  funicular  railway  is  like  all  mountain  railways, 
and  when  you  reach  its  top  you  are  at  the  base  of  the 
cone.  Here  all  must  walk.  Did  I  say  all?  Then  I 
was  wrong.  Among  the  many  queer  things  you  see 
while  travelling,  not  the  least  queer  is  the  number  of 
imperfect  people  you  see  doing  things.  It  is  not  un- 

[47] 


By  the  Way 

common  to  see  a  rich  blind  man  being  led  around  and 
the  sights  described  to  him.  As  for  the  rich  halt  and 
the  wealthy  lame,  they  are  legion.  You  see  people 
carried  in  chairs  by  stalwart  chair-men  in  all  sorts  of 
places  abroad.  You  see  old  people  and  invalids  in 
shoulder-slings  hoisted  around  gigantic  ruins  in  Egypt. 
You  see  them  continually  being  borne  about  Pompeii. 
But  I  must  admit  I  was  surprised  to  see  such  people 
bolstered  in  chairs  up  to  the  very  brink  of  the  crater  of 
Vesuvius. 

At  the  upper  station  of  the  funicular  railway,  at  the 
base  of  the  cone,  the  first  obligatory  charge  for  guides 
is  made :  you  are  forced  to  take  a  guide  to  the  mouth  of 
the  crater  at  the  fixed  price  of  3.50  lire  per  person  — 
about  70  cents.  This  fee  must  be  paid  —  the  volcano 
is  within  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Commune  of  Resina, 
and  the  guides  are  authorized  officials  and  wear  com- 
mune badges.  The  tax  is  a  little  higher  than  it  need 
be,  but  the  Commune  can  scarcely  be  blamed  for  mak- 
ing the  taking  of  guides  obligatory.  Many  tourists 
would  dodge  the  tax  if  they  could  —  some  through 
economy,  some  through  bravado.  But  at  times  guides 
are  beyond  question  necessary.  Many  lives  would  be 
lost  every  year  were  people  to  attempt  ascending  to  the 
crater  without  guides.  The  cone  is  often  covered  with 
snow;  at  other  times  the  smoke  from  the  crater  is  blind- 
ing; the  wind  frequently  fills  the  air  with  fine  cinders, 
so  that  one  can  not  see.  It  would  be  an  easy  matter 
for  a  stranger  to  lose  his  way,  and  even  to  fall  into  the 
crater.  A  ticket  issued  by  the  Commune  of  Resina, 

[48] 


Pushed,  Pulled,  or  Carried 

authorizing  two  travellers  to  visit  the  crater  of  Vesuvius 
with  guide,  reads  as  follows: 

Dalla  Stazione  Superiore 

al 

Cono  Attvvo 

Per  comitiva  di  2  Viaggiatori        L.  7.00 

Tar  iff  a  per  le  guide  del  Vesuvio,  giusta  il 

regolamento  approvato  con  decreto  dell1  III. 

mo.  Signor  Prefteto  della  Provincia  di  Napoli 

Even  here  the  tourist  agency  has  an  inspector  to 
keep  the  guides  in  order. 

When  I  had  paid  for  our  tickets  and  chosen  our 
guides,  we  began  the  ascent  of  the  cone.  It  is  only  a 
fifteen-minute  climb,  but  it  is  pretty  hard  work  while  it 
lasts.  The  loose  cinders  under  foot  make  walking  very 
difficult.  You  seem  to  slide  back  two  feet  for  every  one 
that  you  take  forward.  You  can  go  in  a  chair;  or  you 
can  hire  two  guides  to  take  either  arm,  with  a  third  to 
push  you  from  behind ;  or  you  can  cling  to  a  stout  strap 
hooked  to  the  belt  of  a  single  guide;  or  you  can  go  it 
alone.  Most  people  start  out  to  go  it  alone,  and  wind 
up  by  hiring  assistance. 

The  day  we  went  to  the  crater  a  fierce  gale  was  howl- 
ing around  the  top  of  the  mountain.  About  two  hun- 
dred yards  to  windward  of  us  a  group  of  men  were 
climbing  the  cone  by  the  Resina  trail;  from  them,  the 
wind  blew  clouds  of  ashes,  which  filled  our  eyes,  our 
ears,  our  noses,  which  stung  and  blinded  us.  But  at 

[49] 


By  the  Way 

last  we  reached  the  top,  we  stood  panting  on  the  brink 
of  the  crater,  we  looked  into  the  awful  depths  below. 

How  did  it  look  ?  Well,  there  are  many  disillusions 
in  travelling.  It  is,  of  course,  an  interesting  thing  to  go 
to  the  top  of  one  of  the  great  volcanic  mountains  of  the 
world.  It  is  a  revelation  to  look  into  its  crater.  "How 
did  it  look?"  you  ask.  Well,  it  looked  exactly  like  a 
dump  of  a  mine  or  a  smelting- works.  I  have  seen  many 
such  dumps,  where  masses  of  heated  cinders  and  slag 
lie  at  the  bottom  of  a  big  pit.  In  these  mine-dumps 
one  may  see  smoke  and  steam  pouring  up  in  vast  vol- 
umes from  the  heated  cinders  and  slag.  So  was  it  at 
the  crater  of  Vesuvius.  The  smoke  was  sulphurous 
and  suffocating.  It  finished  the  work  of  blinding  our 
eyes,  already  half-blinded  with  ashes.  Soon  we  could 
see  nothing  at  all.  Yet  in  the  midst  of  our  cinder  tears, 
we  had  the  satisfaction  of  saying  to  ourselves  that  we 
had  seen  the  crater  of  Vesuvius.  Further  to  complete 
the  parallel  between  the  volcano's  crater  and  a  mine- 
dump,  the  crater  looked  as  if  it  had  been  made  by  man 
—  it  was  an  irregular  rectangle  with  sloping  sides.  Of 
course,  this  conformation  was  due  to  the  talus  falling 
down  from  the  embankments  of  slag,  lava,  and  old 
cinders  on  which  we  stood.  The  shape  of  the  pit  is 
continually  changing.  This  particular  crater  was  only 
a  few  days  old,  and  was  already  approaching  perilously 
near  to  the  guardian's  hut. 

We  found  the  guides  civil  enough,  but  there  is  not  a 
little  grumbling  among  the  tourists  whom  they  halt, 
forbidding  the  ascent  of  the  crater  without  a  guide. 


A  Battle  of  Guides 

But  it  is  the  law.  When  the  crater  is  enveloped  in 
smoke  or  steam,  it  is  easy  for  strangers  to  lose  their  way 
and  tumble  into  either  the  main  crater  or  some  of  the 
baby  craters  which  lie  around  incubating.  While  a 
tourist  or  two  would  not  greatly  matter  to  the  world, 
the  Italian  Government  appears  reluctant  to  lose  one. 
Hence  its  loving  care. 

Not  only  the  Commune  of  Resina,  but  all  the  Com- 
munes jealously  guard  their  privileges.  How  jealously 
is  shown  by  this  curious  scene,  which  took  place  under 
our  eyes  while  we  were  at  the  base  of  the  cone.  It  was 
so  absorbing  that  our  own  guides  kept  us  waiting,  and 
did  not  start  to  climb  the  cone  until  the  incident  was 
ended.  This  was  what  interested  them:  a  tourist 
suddenly  hove  in  sight,  who  did  not  come  from  the  direc- 
tion of  the  railway  route.  The  Resina  guides  imme- 
diately spied  him,  for  he  was  accompanied  by  two 
strange  guides.  Like  birds  of  prey,  all  the  guides 
gathered  around.  The  wrangling  which  at  once  broke 
out  was  not  unlike  the  clangor  of  contending  gulls  over 
a  bit  of  offal.  The  tourist,  it  turned  out,  was  accom- 
panied by  guides  from  Pompeii.  The  Resina  guides 
fiercely  resented  their  appearance,  and  ordered  them 
to  depart.  The  Pompeiian  guides  with  equal  fierce- 
ness refused.  Around  the  poor  tourist  the  battle  raged. 
He  spoke  no  language  save  his  own.  Heaven  knows 
what  that  was  —  Bulgarian,  mayhap,  or  possibly 
Polish  —  but  he  would  gaze  dumbly  from  time  to  time 
at  the  circle  of  scowling  faces  around  him,  as  though 
he  would  very  much  like  to  know  what  it  was  all  about. 


By  the  Way 

Just  as  the  guides  were  on  the  point  of  coming  to  blows 
over  their  prey,  two  carabineers  —  rural  police  officers 
—  appeared,  of  whom  there  are  many  on  the  mountain. 
With  a  magisterial  air  they  restored  peace  if  not  silence, 
and  then  ordered  the  contending  factions  to  state  their 
case.  It  was  done  at  great  length  and  in  vociferous 
Sicilian,  Neapolitan,  and  Italian.  When  the  cara- 
bineers had  heard  the  case  in  full,  they  advanced  gravely 
to  a  certain  monument  on  the  mountain,  a  stone  cairn. 
Here  one  of  them  drew  a  line  with  his  toe  in  the 
shifting,  drifting  cinders,  just  such  a  line  as  we  boys 
used  to  draw  when  we  had  jumping  contests  or  ran 
foot-races. 

"Here,"  said  he,  oracularly,  to  the  Pompeiian  guides, 
"here  is  your  limit.  You  can  come  up  this  far  with 
your  tourist  —  beyond  that  you  cannot  go.  Thus  says 
the  law."  The  other  carabineer  nodded  with  owlish 
gravity. 

With  yells  of  joy  the  Resina  guides  fell  upon  the 
hapless  tourist  who  came  up  the  Pompeii  trail.  Two 
of  them  grabbed  him  by  either  arm,  a  third  hooked  a 
strap  into  his  belt  and  pulled  him  from  in  front,  a  fourth 
pushed  him  from  behind,  and  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye  they  hustled  him  up  the  trail  toward  the  crater, 
while  the  baffled  Pompeiian  guides  remained  behind 
on  the  fatal  line,  gnashing  their  teeth. 

When  this  took  place,  our  own  guides,  who  had  been 
interested  spectators,  acting  as  a  very  noisy  gallery, 
also  took  up  their  line  of  march,  and  we,  too,  went  up 
to  the  crater. 

[52] 


Her  Old  and  New  Shoes 

When  we  left  our  guides  on  the  descent,  and  reached 
the  funicular  railway,  a  sharp-faced  young  woman, 
accompanied  by  a  guide,  got  on  to  the  same  car  with 
us.  The  cars  are  small  ones,  holding  about  six  people. 
Noticing  that  we  were  speaking  English,  she  asked 
whether  we  were  Americans  or  English  people,  and 
being  told  that  we  were  Americans,  at  once  became 
extremely  confidential.  She  had  climbed  the  crater 
in  a  pair  of  shabby,  high-heeled  slippers,  which  she 
proceeded  to  remove.  She  volunteered  the  remark 
that  she  had  been  advised  not  to  wear  her  best  shoes 
on  the  cone,  as  the  hot  ashes  would  certainly  ruin  them, 
hence  she  had  worn  these  old  ones.  The  guide  was 
carrying  her  hand-bag,  which  she  bade  him  open. 
Out  of  it  she  produced  a  pair  of  new  and  natty  shoes; 
then  she  began  to  unbutton  a  long  pair  of  cloth  gaiters, 
knee  high;  when  she  had  removed  these  she  began  to 
button  her  shiny  shoes  —  all  this  on  the  open  car,  with 
the  fierce  wind  blowing  her  skirts  about  her  shanks  — 
to  the  amazement  of  the  guide,  who  gazed  at  her  in 
open-mouthed  wonder.  I  must  confess  I  shared  his 
surprise.  I  have  seen  some  odd  things,  but  the  spec- 
tacle of  a  young  woman  on  Vesuvius  taking  off  a  pair 
of  knee-high  gaiters  in  a  high  wind  in  the  presence  of 
a  Neapolitan  guide  and  some  total  strangers  was  cer- 
tainly surprising. 


On  our  way  down  the  mountain  a  beautiful  Italian 
boy  approached,  put  his  hand  on  our  carriage,  and 

[S3] 


By  the  Way 

gave  us  a  sunny  smile  (25  centesimi).  He  walked  along 
a  few  yards,  and  then  went  forward  and  patted  the  near 
horse's  flank  (10  centesimi).  He  stooped  down  and 
presented  to  Madama  a  small  piece  of  lava  (15  cente- 
simi). I  purposely  put  the  price  low,  as  Vesuvius  is 
entirely  composed  of  lava  and  is  thirty  miles  around. 
Again  he  walked  along  in  silence  a  few  yards,  and  then 
remarked  "  Fine  day  "  (10  centesimi).  He  saw  a  yellow 
flower  by  the  side  of  the  road,  which  he  gathered  and 
presented  to  Madama  with  another  sunny  smile  (35 
centesimi). 

Here  I  interfered.  "Fair  youth,"  said  I,  "waste 
not  thy  time  upon  heedless  and  unappreciative  travel- 
lers like  ourselves.  We  need  no  little  pieces  of  lava; 
our  horses  care  not  for  caresses;  we  have  no  use  for 
sunny  Italian  smiles.  Here  is  a  coin,  fair  boy;  it  is  the 
smallest  I  have ;  had  I  a  smaller  it  would  be  yours,  but 
take  it  with  my  blessing,"  and  here  I  handed  him  a 
soldo,  which  is  about  a  penny. 

There  used  to  be  a  small  coin  current  in  Italy  which 
I  have  not  seen  of  late  years.  It  was  worth  about  a 
fifth  of  a  cent,  and  was  called,  I  believe,  a  baioccho. 
I  have  had  the  habit,  when  returning  home  after  a  trip, 
of  keeping  my  uncurrent  coin  as  souvenirs.  The  ex- 
perienced traveller  always  endeavors  to  cross  a  frontier 
with  as  little  as  possible  of  the  coin  of  the  land  he  is 
leaving.  In  this  he  is  actively  seconded  by  the  natives, 
who  do  not  confine  their  efforts  to  their  own  coin  —  they 
endeavor  to  relieve  him  of  his  own  as  well.  They  are 
generally  quite  successful.  However  that  may  be,  the 

[54] 


Uncurrent  Coins  for  Beggars 

seasoned  traveller  knows  he  will  lose  heavily  in  dealing 
with  the  money-changers  on  the  frontier,  so  at  his  last 
stop  —  in  France,  let  us  say  —  he  usually  secures  just 
enough  French  money  to  carry  him  to  the  German  line. 
But  there  he  may  have  a  few  sous  left ;  correspondingly, 
when  he  leaves  Germany,  a  few  pfennig;  when  he  leaves 
Austria,  a  few  kreutzer;  when  he  leaves  Turkey,  a  few 
nickel  piastres,  or  metallik.  On  returning  home  I  have 
always  deposited  these  uncurrent  coins  in  the  extended 
basket  of  a  beautiful  flower-girl  in  my  room  —  a  porce- 
lain girl,  by  the  way,  with  turquoise  eyes  and  a  dazzling 
Dresden-china  smile.  She  has  a  most  remarkable 
collection  in  her  basket,  and  among  the  coins  I  recalled 
distinctly  several  of  these  baiocchi,  some  bearing  the 
head  of  Pio  Nono,  some  the  features  of  King  Bomba 
of  Naples,  and  all  worth,  as  I  said,  about  a  fifth  of  a 
cent.  How  I  yearned  for  one  of  them!  It  would  have 
filled  my  soul  with  joy  had  I  been  able  to  present  a 
baioccho  to  my  Vesuvian  youth  with  the  sunny  smile. 
But  I  gave  him  the  smallest  I  had. 

The  handsome  boy  gazed  at  the  copper  coin  with 
the  expression  of  a  man  who  has  just  bitten  into  a  bad 
oyster.  He  protested  that  he  did  not  want  it,  and  tried 
to  give  it  back  to  me.  He  said  he  was  not  seeking 
money  —  that  he  desired  to  walk  with  us,  partly  for 
the  pleasure  of  the  promenade,  and  partly  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  our  society. 

"Hark  ye,  good  youth,"  quoth  I,  "waste  not  your 
time  on  us.  The  coin  which  I  have  presented  to  you 
is  all  you  will  get.  Far  down  the  dusty  road  behold 

[55] 


By  the  Way 

yon  carriage.  In  it  there  is  a  Chicago  millionnaire  with 
his  wife,  his  mother-in-law,  and  eke  his  wife's  sister. 
He  is  rich  and  generous.  I  am  poor  and  mean.  Go 
—  fly  to  the  Chicago  millionnaire.  Give  the  ladies 
yellow  flowers.  Give  them  of  the  priceless  lava  of 
which  the  mighty  mountain  is  composed.  Give  them 
your  sunny  smile,  and  then  touch  the  Chicago  man  — 
I  mean,  touch  the  Chicago  man's  heart." 

The  youth  with  the  sunny  smile  understood  me. 
He  did  not  like  my  largesse,  but  he  followed  my  advice, 
and  over  the  lava  blocks  he  bounded,  like  the  mountain 
chamois,  making  a  short-cut  to  the  Chicago  man's 
carriage.  During  the  drive  down  the  mountain  I 
noticed  how  assiduous  he  was  in  his  attentions,  and 
that  the  Chicago  ladies'  laps  were  covered  with 
beautiful  wild  flowers,  gathered  by  the  roadside,  and 
that  the  very  air  was  perfumed  with  sunny  Italian 
smiles. 

But  when  the  Chicago  man's  carriage  was  at  the  foot 
of  the  toll-road,  I  heard  a  violent  altercation  going  on, 
and  stopped  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  The  youth 
with  the  sunny  smile  was  demanding  of  the  Chicago 
millionnaire  the  sum  of  five  francs.  He  said  he  had 
been  hired  by  that  gentleman  to  walk  along  by  the 
carriage,  push  it  down  hill,  pick  flowers,  gather  lava, 
and  generally  to  make  himself  useless.  The  bystand- 
ers all  agreed  with  him  —  they  were  all  guides,  carriage- 
drivers,  and  hotel- touts,  and  therefore  utterly  unpreju- 
diced. They  showed  the  Chicago  man  that  he  was 
wrong  in  grinding  the  face  of  the  poor,  so  he  reluctantly 

[56] 


The  Beautiful  Boy 

dug  up  five  francs,  and  presented  it  to  the  youth  with 
the  sunny  smile. 

Ah,  he  was  indeed  a  beautiful  boy,  with  his  jet-black 
eyes,  his  curling  hair,  and  his  bright  and  sunny  smile. 
But  I  am  glad  I  passed  him  up  to  the  Chicago  man. 


[57] 


Ill 

ENGLAND'S  LEVANTINE 
FORTRESS 


Ill 

ENGLAND'S  LEVANTINE  FORTRESS 

[HEN  your  steamer  touches  at  Malta  and 
you  view  the  harbor  of  Valetta  the  effect 
of  the  terraced  buildings  rising  on  rocks 
out  of  the  sea  is  almost  like  a  scene  paint- 
er 's  fantasy.  In  the  temple  scene  from  "Salammbo" 
at  the  Paris  Opera,  stair  on  stair  rises  from  the  water- 
gates  to  the  lofty  temple  summits  —  perfect  vistas  of 
staircases,  seemingly  from  sea  to  sky.  The  view  of 
Valetta  at  once  brought  this  scene  to  my  mind.  The 
effect  of  human  figures  against  this  marvellous  sky- 
line at  sunset  was  most  picturesque.  Standing  high 
up  above  us  were  groups  of  British  redcoats,  sharply 
outlined  against  the  evening  sky.  They  were  on  the 
lofty  parapet  among  the  great  guns,  yet  they  could 
easily  toss  a  biscuit  upon  the  big  steamer's  deck  below. 
The  appearance  of  Valetta,  as  seen  from  a  ship,  im- 
presses one  as  more  Oriental  than  European.  True, 
the  prevailing  style  of  architecture  is  Italian  as  well  as 
Moorish.  But  the  flat-roofed  houses  and  their  color 
irresistibly  suggest  the  Moorish  cities  like  Algiers.  As 
we  entered  the  harbor  the  town  was  flooded  with  sun- 

[61] 


England's  Levantine  Fortress 

shine,  and  the  rich  coloring  of  sea  and  sky  made  a 
brilliant  setting  to  the  unique  city;  another  color  effect 
came  from  the  bright  yellow  hue  of  the  buildings, 
which  lent  a  golden  tinge  to  the  landscape.  Out  of 
all  the  picturesque  cities  around  the  Mediterranean, 
Valetta  and  Algiers  stick  most  in  the  memory. 

The  city  of  Valetta  lies  on  a  small  peninsula,  at  the 
head  of  which  is  the  Fort  of  St.  Elmo.  To  the  right, 
between  the  mainland  and  the  peninsula,  is  the  Grand 
Harbor,  at  the  entrance  to  which  is  Fort  Ricasoli.  To 
the  left  of  the  peninsula  lies  Quarantine  Harbor,  the 
head  of  which  is  guarded  by  Fort  Manoel.  Opening 
off  of  these  two  harbors  are  ten  bays  or  basins,  which 
have  been  turned  into  docks,  or  small  harbors;  heavy 
fortifications  surround  them  on  every  side.  Where 
the  peninsula  of  Valetta  joins  the  land  begin  the  mas- 
sive fortifications  of  the  suburb,  Floriana. 

Numerous  institutions  are  grouped  in  and  around 
the  peninsula,  such  as  the  army  hospital,  naval  hos- 
pital, invalids'  hospital,  infants'  hospital,  central  hos- 
pital, navy  prison,  army  prison,  civil  prison,  barracks, 
factories  for  military  stores,  and  warehouses  for  gov- 
ernment stores;  here  also  are  the  shooting-ranges  for 
musketry  practice,  while  in  the  offing  may  be  seen  the 
floating  targets  for  naval  gunnery.  Valetta  is  thus  a 
combination  of  an  Oriental  city,  an  English  garrison 
town,  and  English  naval  station.  There  is  room  in 
its  harbor  for  over  six  hundred  naval  vessels.  It  is  a 
port  of  call  for  many  lines,  and  often  ten  large  steam- 
ships arrive  and  depart  in  a  single  day. 

[62] 


Malta's  Many  Harbors 

The  highest  points  in  Valetta  are  the  Strada  Reale, 
near  the  Palace  Square,  and  the  garden  with  arcaded 
promenades  called  the  Upper  Baracca.  Here  you  may 
look  down  into  the  enormous  fosse  cut  out  of  the  solid 
rock  by  the  labor  of  thousands  of  Mohammedan  slaves. 
Beyond  are  the  heights  of  Citta  Vecchia;  at  your  feet 
lie  the  many  harbors,  crowded  with  battleships,  cruisers, 
troop-ships,  torpedo-boats,  destroyers,  yachts,  pas- 
senger liners,  merchantmen,  and  hundreds  of  native 
craft;  looking  across  the  Lower  Baracca,  you  see  the 
entrance  to  the  harbor.  The  open  arched  ranges 
called  "Baraccas"  once  were  roofed,  but  a  knot  of 
conspirators  having  been  discovered  there,  the  Grand 
Master  ordered  the  roofs  removed. 

Looking  down  from  the  heights  of  Valetta  to  the  two 
harbors  on  either  side  of  the  peninsula,  the  flat  roofs 
rise  step  by  step  from  the  sea  to  the  tops  of  the  arches 
of  the  two  picturesque  Baraccas.  The  streets  are  very 
picturesque  —  narrow,  steep,  and,  like  the  houses, 
rising  step  by  step.  In  the  times  of  the  Knights,  the 
main  streets  were  forbidden  to  women;  now  the  women 
are  so  numerous  that  they  outnumber  the  men,  who 
emigrate  largely.  The  Maltese  women  almost  all  wear 
in  the  street  a  curious  black  hood  called  the  jaldetta, 
which  is  probably  a  survival  of  the  Oriental  veil.  It  is 
in  the  shape  of  a  skirt  turned  up  over  the  head,  kept 
stiff  by  an  arched  piece  of  whalebone  which  can  be 
managed  by  the  hand.  Ladies  of  position  wear  the 
faldetta  at  certain  religious  festivals. 

The  migration  of  the  Maltese  men  is  necessary.  The 

[63] 


England's  Levantine  Fortress 

population  of  Malta  is  very  dense;  a  few  years  ago  it 
was  some  fifteen  hundred  to  the  square  mile.  As  the 
island  has  little  or  no  soil  the  population  cannot  be  sup- 
ported from  the  land.  The  English  government  keeps 
enormous  stores  of  grain  on  the  island  to  provide  for 
the  wants  of  both  garrison  and  people  in  case  of  war 
or  other  emergency. 

The  Maltese  climate  is  not  agreeable.  The  wind 
which  blows  from  the  African  desert,  and  which  on  the 
Riviera  is  somewhat  mitigated  by  the  Mediterranean, 
is  in  Malta  a  hot  and  humid  wind,  very  trying  to  men 
and  animals.  Another  unpleasant  feature  at  Malta  is 
the  prevalence  of  a  fine  and  disagreeable  dust.  While 
the  wind  at  Malta  is  more  trying  than  on  the  Riviera, 
the  climatic  alterations  are  not  so  great;  usually,  there 
is  a  difference  of  only  three  or  four  degrees  in  tempera- 
ture between  night  and  day. 

Although  Malta  is  only  sixty  miles  from  the  Sicilian 
coast,  it  looks  more  like  Africa  than  Europe.  Geo- 
logical indications  seem  to  show  that  the  Maltese  group 
of  islands  once  connected  Italy  with  Africa.  But  all 
question  as  to  Malta's  continental  allegiance  is  settled 
by  law,  for  Great  Britain  has  declared  by  act  of  parlia- 
ment that  Malta  is  a  part  of  Europe,  to  whichever 
continent  it  belongs.  But  some  day  it  will  belong  to 
neither:  the  island  is  slowly  subsiding;  in  smooth  rocky 
ways  leading  to  the  seashore  wheeltracks  are  found 
disappearing  under  the  water. 

When  we  were  in  Malta  the  Carnival  was  in  progress. 
The  population  is  a  childish  one,  and  the  Maltese 

[64] 


The  Maltese  Language 

derive  greater  pleasure  from  hurling  strings  of  colored 
paper  at  one  another  than  their  colder  brethren  of  the 
north.  Throwing  strings  of  colored  paper  all  over 
buildings,  trees,  telegraph-poles,  and  telephone-wires, 
where  they  hang  limply  through  the  day  and  night,  to 
be  collected  next  morning  by  scavengers,  is  a  pastime 
pursued  in  Paris,  the  City  of  Light,  as  well  as  in  semi- 
African  Malta.  Personally,  I  have  never  been  able  to 
see  why  this  curious  proceeding  should  be  supposed  to 
add  to  the  gayety  of  nations. 

Sailing  westward  from  Alexandria,  traces  of  the 
Orient  may  be  seen  at  Malta.  Dates,  for  example, 
are  for  sale  there  on  every  hand.  Once  I  used  to  like 
dates.  But  since  I  have  visited  Oriental  ports  I  never 
eat  dates.  Never  mind  why.  The  things  that  happen 
to  them  have  cured  me.  I  have  nothing  to  say.  I  cast 
no  imputations  on  their  fair  fame.  I  do  not  wish  to 
disquiet  any  person  who  is  fond  of  them.  But  I  never 
eat  dates. 

If  the  Maltese  seem  volatile  in  their  carnival  customs, 
they  are  not  fickle  in  their  love  of  their  language.  The 
English  have  held  Malta  for  a  hundred  years  —  they 
will  doubtless  hold  it  as  long  as  their  empire  stands. 
But  powerful  as  is  the  English  nation,  they  have  not 
succeeded  in  making  the  Maltese  speak  the  English 
language.  The  masses  of  the  people  still  speak  the 
Maltese  dialect,  a  mixture  of  Italian  and  Arabic. 
Italian  is  the  official  language  of  the  law  courts.  There 
is  a  local  parliament  at  Valetta,  where  the  language 
used  is  Italian,  as  in  the  courts.  When  we  were  there 


England's  Levantine  Fortress 

the  English  were  endeavoring  to  displace  Italian  in 
courts  and  schools,  but  not  with  much  success.  The 
press  and  the  populace  were  arrayed  in  organized  oppo- 
sition to  English  speech.  The  people  of  the  upper 
classes  generally  teach  their  children  English,  Maltese, 
and  Italian. 

To  show  us  around  the  fortifications  we  had  an  Eng- 
lish-speaking guide.  He  told  us  that  English  is  by  no 
means  generally  spoken  among  the  lower  orders.  There 
are,  however,  many  English  sign-boards.  On  a  road- 
side tavern  I  saw  the  sign  "  WINES  AND  SPIRITS  — 
WELCOME  TO  ALL  —  ENGLAND  FOREVER."  But  this 
Maltese  mixture  of  thrift  and  patriotism  was  evidently 
concocted  for  the  British  tar. 

Very  proud  of  his  Anglo-Saxon  speech  was  our  Eng- 
lish-speaking guide.  But  his  English  was  better  in 
intent  than  in  syntax,  for  he  told  us  that  "Malta  is 
heavily  fortificated,"  and  also  that  "Malta  produces 
much  of  rock."  This  was  very  evident.  Never  in  my 
life  have  I  seen  so  much  rock  to  the  acre.  One  of  Bret 
Harte's  stories  begins  in  the  Sierra,  with  the  words: 
"Snow.  Snow.  Everywhere  snow."  These  words 
rose  to  my  mind  as  I  gazed  around  me  in  Malta,  and  I 
mentally  modified  them  to  "Stone.  Stone.  Every- 
where stone."  I  used  to  be  surprised  at  the  enormous 
stone-walls  to  be  found  in  Southern  Europe,  but  I  have 
never  seen  anything  on  the  Continent  to  equal  Malta. 
The  ordinary  roadways  running  from  Valetta  to  Citta 
Vecchia  are  lined  with  miles  and  miles  of  stone  colon- 
nades made  up  of  Roman  arches.  The  openings  in 

[66] 


Gigantic  Fortifications 
I 

these  arches  have  subsequently  been  filled  in  with 
rubble  masonry,  for  what  purpose  heaven  only  knows. 
The  wild  efflorescence  of  stone- work  on  every  hand  in 
Malta  leads  one  to  believe  that  when  the  natives  had 
nothing  to  do  they  put  up  these  long  stone  colon- 
nades along  the  roadway,  and  when  they  ran  out 
of  a  job  again  they  went  to  work  and  filled  up  the 
arches  with  rough  stone  to  keep  themselves  out  of 
mischief. 

How  rich  is  Malta  in  stone  is  shown  by  the  gigantic 
fortifications  around  Valetta.  They  were  constructed 
of  enormous  blocks  of  stone  by  the  slaves  of  the  Knights 
of  Malta,  and  have  been  modernized  by  the  British. 
These  masses  of  stone-work  are  not  so  impregnable  as 
in  the  ancient  days,  and  the  modern  cannon  which 
crown  them  are  probably  better  defences  than  the  stone 
walls.  But  the  labyrinth  of  outworks,  the  maze  of 
moats  and  trenches  cut  out  of  the  solid  rock,  with  the 
magazine  chambers  and  modern  bomb-proofs  which 
supplement  them,  are  by  no  means  to  be  sneered  at. 
Some  English  officers  say  that  as  a  fortress  Gibraltar 
does  not  compare  with  Malta,  and  they  laugh  at  the 
Russians'  claim  that  Kronstadt  and  the  Neva  fortifica- 
tions render  St.  Petersburg  more  impregnable  than 
Valetta. 

Although  it  contains  so  much,  the  city  of  Valetta  is 
small.  Including  the  suburb  of  Floriana,  it  is  a  mile 
wide  and  two  miles  long.  This  suburb,  by  the  way, 
was  named  after  Pietro  Paulo  Floriane,  the  engineer 
who  designed  the  elaborate  fortifications,  the  demi- 

[67] 


England's  Levantine  Fortress 

lunes,  the  curtains,  ditches,  ravelins,  and  bastions 
which  surround  the  city.  The  colossal  fosse  which 
shuts  off  Valetta  from  Floriana  is  intended  to  stop  any 
invasion  from  the  land  side.  It  is  almost  three  fifths 
of  a  mile  long,  sixty  feet  deep,  thirty  feet  wide,  and  cut 
out  of  the  solid  rock. 

Floriane's  fortifications  were  proof  against  siege,  but 
not  against  treachery.  While  Napoleon  was  yet  Gen- 
eral Bonaparte,  Malta  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  French. 
It  was  then  Napoleon  boasted  that  when  he  had  sub- 
dued England  he  would  erect  his  palace  in  Malta  be- 
tween Europe  and  the  Orient. 

During  the  stay  of  Bonaparte's  troops  they  robbed 
the  Maltese  churches  of  whatever  came  handy  and  was 
easy  to  carry.  From  the  church  of  St.  John  they  stole 
the  twelve  life-size  silver  statues  of  the  Apostles.  There 
still  remains  a  solid  silver  balustrade,  or  chancel-rail, 
which  the  French  did  not  steal,  for  the  reason  that  a 
foxy  priest  of  the  period  painted  the  silver  black.  Prob- 
ably the  most  petty  theft  ever  committed  by  Bonaparte 
was  when  he  robbed  the  Monte  di  Pieta,  the  govern- 
ment pawn  shop  of  Valetta.  From  this  institution  he 
stole  watches,  chains,  rings,  and  other  gold  and  silver 
trinkets  belonging  to  the  poor  of  Malta,  to  the  value  of 
nearly  a  million  francs.  That  Bonaparte  was  a  brigand 
is  generally  admitted,  but  this  is  the  first  time  I  ever 
had  it  borne  in  upon  me  that  he  was  a  petty-larceny 
thief.  Another  of  Napoleon's  peculations  was  the 
abstraction  of  the  jewel  from  the  "Hand  of  St.  John." 
This  relic  was  enclosed  in  a  splendid  gauntlet  of  gold; 

[68] 


Napoleon's  Thefts 

with  it  was  a  heavy  gold  ring  set  with  a  large  diamond, 
which  ring  Napoleon  transferred  to  his  own  finger. 
Although  the  painted  chancel-rail  escaped  Bonaparte's 
troops,  they  stole  from  the  Chapel  of  Notre  Dame  a 
sanctuary  lamp  and  chain  of  solid  gold,  weighing 
nearly  two  thousand  ounces. 

It  was  in  Napoleon's  time  that  the  last  Grand  Master 
of  the  Knights  treacherously  delivered  up  the  fortress 
to  the  French.  Thus,  after  some  hundreds  of  years, 
the  Knights  Hospitallers,  or  Knights  of  Malta,  came 
to  an  end.  It  was  from  their  functions  as  hospital 
attendants  that  the  Knights  took  their  title,  "hospital- 
lers." Before  the  First  Crusade  a  hospital  or  hospice 
for  pilgrims  was  established  in  Jerusalem,  which  was 
dedicated  to  St.  John.  The  Hospitallers  were  organized 
into  a  semi-military,  semi-monastic  society.  After  the 
Christian  Kingdom  of  Jerusalem  fell  and  the  Hospital- 
lers were  driven  out,  they  settled  at  Acre.  Years  later 
they  were  again  driven  out  by  the  Moslems,  and  retired 
to  Cyprus.  This  island  they  held  for  several  centuries, 
largely  controlling  the  Mediterranean.  When  they 
captured  the  Island  of  Rhodes,  they  moved  their  head- 
quarters thither,  receiving  much  of  the  forfeited  prop- 
erty of  the  suppressed  order  of  Templar  Knights. 
When  Sultan  Solyman  besieged  and  drove  out  the 
Knights  they  wandered  from  place  to  place,  finally 
settling  at  Malta,  which  was  given  them  by  the  Em- 
peror Charles  V.  That  crafty  sovereign  doubtless  gave 
them  this  post  as  an  advance  guard  of  Western  Chris- 
tianity. The  Turks,  so  believing,  made  endless  efforts 

[69] 


England's  Levantine  Fortress 

to  destroy  them.  The  story  of  that  time  is  a  record  of 
stubborn  sieges  and  bloody  battles. 

The  character  of  the  warfare  between  the  Knights 
and  the  Turks  is  shown  by  these  incidents:  When  Mus- 
tapha  Pasha  was  besieging  Valetta,  Knight  Viperan  in 
his  chronicle  spoke  enthusiastically  of  the  Christian 
Knights'  success  in  poisoning  the  spring  at  Marsa,  the 
main  Turkish  camp,  by  which  clever  device  eight 
hundred  Turks  died  horribly.  Thereupon  Mustapha 
beheaded  all  his  prisoner  Knights;  crucifying  their 
mutilated  trunks  on  planks,  they  were  thrown  into  the 
harbor,  and  floated  with  the  tide  to  the  Fort  of  St. 
Angelo.  In  retaliation,  the  Knights  decapitated  all 
the  Turkish  prisoners,  and  fired  into  the  Turkish  camp 
their  bleeding  heads  as  cannon-balls. 

Although  the  Knights  were  a  monastic  order,  they 
lived  anything  but  a  pious  life.  Their  piratical  raids  on 
land  and  sea  —  for  they  were  both  land  and  water 
pirates  —  gave  them  constantly  prize-money  to  divide. 
Of  their  large  numbers  of  prisoners,  they  set  the  men 
to  hard  labor  as  slaves,  and  kept  the  women  as  their 
"  house-keepers."  Having  nothing  to  do  between  raids, 
they  spent  most  of  their  time  in  gambling  and  de- 
bauchery. In  one  expedition  against  the  Turks,  we 
find  in  the  books,  carefully  set  down  in  the  list  of  their 
booty,  eight  hundred  Turkish  women  and  girls,  whom 
they  divided  up. 

The  character  of  the  Knights  is  pithily  indicated  in 
this  anecdote  of  the  time :  When  Richard  Coeur  de 
Lion  was  in  France,  Fulco,  a  priest,  bade  him  beware 

[70] 


The  Knights'  Auberges 

how  he  bestowed  his  daughters  in  marriage.  "I  have 
no  daughters,"  said  the  king.  "Nay,  nay,"  replied 
Fulco,  "all  the  world  knows  that  you  have  three  — 
Pride,  Covetousness,  and  Lechery."  "If  these  be  my 
daughters,"  retorted  the  king,  "I  know  how  to  bestow 
them  where  they  will  be  well  cherished.  My  eldest  I 
give  to  the  Bishops,  my  second  to  the  priests,  and  my 
third  to  the  Knights  of  Malta." 

The  Knights,  ruled  over  Malta  for  some  centuries. 
As  they  were  made  up  of  recruits  from  different  coun- 
tries, they  were  classified  by  langues,  or  "tongues,"  of 
which  there  were  six:  English,  Italian,  Spanish,  Portu- 
guese, French,  and  German.  Subsequently,  Auvergne, 
Provence,  and  Castile  were  added.  Hence  the  odd 
names  of  the  fine  old  palaces  one  sees  in  Valetta  to-day. 
Among  them  are  the  "  Auberge  d'ltalie,"  now  the  quar- 
ters of  the  officers  of  the  Royal  Engineers;  the  "Auberge 
de  Castile,"  now  the  quarters  of  the  officers  of  the  Royal 
Artillery;  the  "Auberge  de  Provence,"  now  the  Union 
Club,  which  has  a  ballroom  with  one  of  the  only  two 
wooden  floors  in  the  city;  the  "Auberge  d' Auvergne," 
now  the  Courts  of  Justice;  the  " Auberge  d'Arragon," 
residence  of  the  general  commanding.  These  auberges 
are  all  imposing  palaces  of  the  Italianesque  order. 
They  are  naturally  all  built  of  stone,  as  are  all  Maltese 
houses. 

It  was  not  until  the  French  Revolution  came  that 
the  rule  of  the  Knights  of  Malta  came  to  an  end.  By 
its  workings  they  were  deprived  of  nearly  all  their  vast 
revenues.  The  Grand  Master  tried  every  expedient 


England's  Levantine  Fortress 

to  raise  money,  such  as  melting  down  gold  and  silver 
plate  and  ornaments.  But  they  had  reached  the  end 
of  their  resources.  It  was  at  this  time  that  the  French 
were  treacherously  admitted  within  the  city,  and  Valetta 
fell.  Malta  remained  in  the  possession  of  the  French 
for  only  a  short  time.  The  betrayal  of  the  fortress  to 
the  French  by  the  last  Grand  Master,  Von  Hompesch, 
so  irritated  the  Maltese  that  they  rose  against  the 
French,  and  were  joined  by  the  English,  whose  fleet 
had  just  arrived  at  Malta  from  its  victory  at  Aboukir. 
The  French  took  refuge  behind  the  walls  of  the  great 
fortifications,  where  they  held  out  for  two  years.  On 
September  5, 1800,  however,  they  were  starved  out,  and 
the  English  took  possession  of  Malta,  which  they  have 
ever  since  retained. 


As  we  sailed  out  of  the  harbor,  past  the  fort,  again 
did  the  view  of  Valetta  with  its  artificial  beauty  recall 
to  me  the  higher  flights  of  scenic  artists  in  the  great 
theatres  of  the  world.  If  there  be  those  who  may  smile 
at  likening  reality  to  simulacrum,  let  me  assure  them 
that  some  of  the  architectural  compositions  of  draughts- 
men are  so  grand,  yet  so  impossible,  that  they  bring  an 
involuntary  sigh  to  the  architect  that  they  cannot  be 
realized.  What  are  the  colossal  plans  for  great  groups 
of  buildings,  universities,  governmental  palaces,  or 
exposition  structures,  drawn  by  students  at  great  archi- 
tectural schools  —  such  as  the  prize  plans  of  those 
architectural  students  in  the  Ecole  des  Beaux  Arts  who 

[72] 


Picturesque  Valetta 

win  the  Prix  de  Rome  —  what  is  their  work  but  gran- 
diose scene-painting?  Such  sketches  are  very  beauti- 
ful, if  impracticable;  would  they  could  be  realized,  and 
instead  of  scene-painting  in  wash  and  distemper,  be 
carried  out  in  steel  and  stone.  What  was  the  Court 
of  Honor  in  the  Chicago  Fair  of  1893  but  glorified 
stage-setting  and  scene-painting?  Yet  fragile  and 
ephemeral  as  was  that  creation  of  lath,  plaster,  and 
staff,  it  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  sights  at  night  my 
eyes  ever  rested  upon. 

I  had  always  considered  Malta  a  barren  rock  —  a 
grim  and  forbidding  fortress.  It  is  much  more  than 
that.  It  is  a  picture.  The  setting  and  the  coloring 
are  due  to  nature  —  the  rest  is  due  to  the  hand  of  man. 
It  is  very  artificial.  But  it  is  very  beautiful  as  well. 


[73] 


IV 

THE  CITY  OF  THE  VIOLET 
CROWN 


IV 

THE  CITY  OF  THE  VIOLET  CROWN 

[HEN  I  was  a  boy  I  used  to  tantalize  my- 
self with  the  poetic  names  of  the  foreign 
cities  that  some  day  I  hoped  to  see.  There 
was  "The  City  by  the  Golden  Horn," 
Stamboul;  "The  Eternal  City,"  Rome;  "The  City  of 
Palms,"  Jericho;  "The  City  of  the  Sun,"  Baalbec;  and 
"The  City  of  the  Violet  Crown,"  Athens.  This  last 
always  appealed  most  vividly  to  my  imagination.  It 
had  color,  melody,  and  rhythm;  and  while  the  city  of 
Athens,  qu&  Athens,  did  not  appeal  to  me  perhaps  so 
strongly  as  did  Rome,  its  sobriquet  was  even  more 
fascinating.  For  there  is  an  intrinsic  magic  in  the 
sound  of  words.  There  is  a  sound-meaning  as  well  as 
a  verbal  meaning.  "Onomatopoeia"  rhetoricians  call 
it.  There  is  much  of  this  sound-meaning  in  our  Saxon 
speech  —  the  "buzzing"  of  bees,  the  "hissing"  of 
serpents,  the  "booming"  of  camion  —  do  not  these 
words  express  their  meanings  by  their  sounds?  So 
with  names;  so  with  sobriquets;  so  with  epithets. 

So  whenever  I  thought  of  Athens  I  did  not  think  of 
Phidias,  of  Lycurgus,  of  Pericles,  of  Aspasia  —  I  used 

[77] 


The  City  of  the  Violet  Crown 

to  think  of  the  sobriquet  "The  City  of  the  Violet 
Crown."  Naturally,  the  meaning  of  this  poetic  sobri- 
quet will  readily  occur  to  the  reader  —  it  comes  from 
the  purple  and  amethystine  haze  with  which  sunrise 
and  sunset  crown  the  Acropolis. 

Did  we  see  the  violet  crown  around  the  heaven- 
kissing  hill?  Well,  no.  It  was  morning  when  we 
ascended  the  Acropolis  —  a  cold  gray  morn  —  for  it  is 
the  fashion  in  Europe  to  ascend  many  high  places  to 
see  the  sun  rise.  Thousands  every  year  go  up  the 
Swiss  peaks  to  see  the  sun  rise;  it  is  nearly  always  foggy 
or  cloudy  on  Pilatus  and  the  Rigi;  when  it  is  not  foggy 
it  is  raining.  Therefore  the  thousands  of  Swiss  tourists 
rarely  see  the  sun  rise,  but  when  they  come  down,  they 
always  lie  about  it,  and  say  they  did. 

So  on  the  Acropolis.  We  saw  no  sunrise;  we  saw 
a  fog,  but  it  was  not  violet;  it  was  a  dingy  gray,  and  it 
was  not  shaped  like  a  crown,  but  in  large,  shapeless  gobs. 

There  were  other  disillusions  about  our  ascent  to  the 
Parthenon.  As  we  drove  up  the  road  that  winds  around 
the  Acropolis,  we  encountered  a  large  drum- corps  prac- 
tising in  one  place  and  a  bugle-corps  executing  fantasies 
in  another.  These  signs  of  modern  militarism  were 
our  first  impressions  in  approaching  the  Acropolis. 
The  next  most  notable  sight  was  the  number  of  goats 
browsing  at  the  base  of  the  famous  hill.  Scattered 
among  the  goats  were  shabby  gentlemen  of  leisure, 
some  in  petticoats,  some  in  trousers;  they  were  seated 
at  scattered  tables  on  the  hillside.  Not  a  few  were  bent 
forward,  with  their  heads  pillowed  in  their  arms,  repos- 

[78] 


ft 


Solitary  Tipplers 

ing  on  the  little  tables  —  asleep,  although  it  was  yet 
early  in  the  forenoon.  The  sight  of  a  number  of  gentle- 
men, slightly  intoxicated,  and  asleep  in  the  morning 
hours,  seated,  with  table  and  chair,  far  from  any  visible 
house,  and  surrounded  by  nothing  more  companionable 
than  goats  —  such  a  sight  was  certainly  peculiar,  even 
in  Greece.  As  we  wound  our  way  up  the  road,  how- 
ever, a  turn  over  one  of  the  flanks  of  the  hill  revealed  a 
little  roadside  grog-shop.  This  was  a  "cafe*,"  and 
scattered  in  various  directions  for  two  or  three  hundred 
yards  were  other  cafe*  tables  with  solitary  drinkers. 
This  fashion  of  scattering  cafe*  tipplers  over  an  acre  or 
two  of  ground  seems  peculiar  to  Greece.  We  even 
saw  one  man  seated  at  such  a  cafe*  table  in  the  middle 
of  the  dusty  road.  What  a  remarkable  place,  time, 
and  manner  in  which  to  be  convivial! 

These  remarks  must  not  be  construed  as  limiting 
intoxication  to  set  hours.  In  a  free  country  every  free 
man  has  an  inalienable  right  to  get  drunk  at  the  hour 
and  in  the  way  which  best  pleases  him.  Still,  even  in 
convivial  countries,  there  has  always  existed  a  slight 
prejudice  against  a  gentleman  showing  up  early  in  the 
morning  with  a  jag.  If  it  lasts  over  from  the  night 
before,  it  is  not  considered  so  bad.  If,  however,  the 
joyous  gentleman  gathered  it  in  the  morning  hours, 
it  is  frowned  upon.  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  the  fixing 
of  the  legal  marriage-hours  in  England  before  twelve 
noon  was  because  so  many  young  gentlemen  of  good 
family  were  apt  to  be  intoxicated  in  the  [afternoon. 
While  in  this  condition  they  were  apt  to  marry  bona 

[79] 


The  City  of  the  Violet  Crown 

robas,  bar-maids,  beggar-maids,  and  thieves.  This 
gave  pain  to  Benedict's  lady-mamma,  and  eke  to  papa. 
As  the  most  convivial  of  young  Britons  would  generally 
have  sobered  up  from  last  night  by  eight  of  the  next 
day,  it  was  deemed  safe  to  fix  the  hour  of  tying  the 
knot  before  twelve.  But  even  with  this  paternal  law, 
careful  drunkards  in  Britain  have  often  succeeded  in 
evading  the  statute,  and  in  enriching  the  thin  blue  blood 
of  a  hundred  earls  with  a  blend  of  the  choicest  gutter- 
blood  from  Whitechapel  or  Seven  Dials. 

It  is  for  a  similar  reason  that  the  hour  for  courts- 
martial  in  Great  Britain  was  fixed.  In  the  good  old 
days  officers  and  gentlemen  were  usually  drunk  after 
dinner,  which  was  the  mid-day  meal.  But  it  was  con- 
sidered inadvisable  for  a  board  of  drunken  officers  to 
judge  and  condemn  a  sober  private. 

I  remember  once  in  Honolulu  being  present  when  a 
court  was  adjourned  to  view  the  premises  in  a  case  on 
trial.  They  were  received  in  the  hospitable  island 
fashion  —  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  they  were 
given  large  "high  balls"  of  Scotch  and  soda.  This 
alcoholic  juridical  procedure  shocked  us  colder-blooded 
northerners;  we  never  before  saw  a  court  judicially 
taking  a  drink  so  early  in  the  morning. 


From  a  mediaeval  hamlet,  Athens  has  grown  to  a  mod- 
ern city  of  over  one  hundred  thousand.  It  was  laid  out 
by  a  German  engineer,  and  is  proud  of  its  straight  streets 
and  its  Occidental  aspect.  The  main  thoroughfares  are 

[80] 


Newness  of  Athens 

Hermes  Street  and  ^Eolus  Street,  both  of  which  start 
from  Constitution  Square.  This  is  the  centre  of  the 
city,  and  on  one  of  its  sides  is  the  royal  palace. 

Athens  itself,  as  a  city,  is  insufferable.  It  is  raw, 
garish,  new,  staring,  crude.  It  smells  of  paint.  It 
reeks  of  varnish.  It  is  redolent  of  last  week.  It  is  the 
newest  city  one  sees  in  the  Levant  —  or  even  in  south- 
ern Europe.  It  is  dusty,  it  is  noisy,  it  is  vulgar.  Every- 
thing in  it  is  imitation.  The  palaces  are  imitation. 
The  hotels  are  imitation.  The  army  is  imitation. 
The  city  is  a  sham.  It  is  a  joy  to  leave  the  common- 
place streets,  to  quit  the  insufferable  city,  and  to  climb 
the  Acropolis.  There,  everything  is  calm  and  peaceful, 
and  the  magnificent  ruins  are  restful.  There  only,  in 
all  Athens,  do  you  find  a  spot  which  is  not  oppressively 
new  and  raw. 

The  royal  palace  is  one  of  the  newest  and  the  rawest 
of  all  the  raw,  new  buildings.  It  is  a  plain  structure 
on  the  packing-case  order  of  architecture.  It  looks 
very  much  as  if  the  upper  three  stories  of  one  of  Chi- 
cago's plain  sky-scrapers  had  been  sawed  off  by  some 
Enceladus  and  set  down  in  Athens.  This  royal  palace 
has  in  front  of  it  two  acres  of  dusty  gravel,  with  not  a 
blade  of  grass  or  a  solitary  tree.  Diagonally  across  this 
gravel-patch  there  run  two  intersecting  X-like  paths, 
where  the  natives  "cross  lots"  to  save  time  in  going 
home.  In  front  of  this  royal  park  runs  the  roadway. 
On  the  other  side  of  it  is  a  scanty  line  of  forlorn  and 
dust-covered  pepper-trees.  These  form  the  boundary 
of  Constitution  Square,  the  main  plaza  of  Athens. 

[81] 


The  City  of  the  Violet  Crown 

This  square  is  also  mainly  made  up  of  gravel.  There 
are  no  grass  lawns,  and  only  a  few  trees.  It  is  beau- 
tified with  iron  cafe*  chairs  and  iron  gas-pipe  arches, 
which  doubtless  burst  forth  into  loyal  flame  on  King 
George's  birthday. 

When  King  George  drove  through  the  streets  of  his 
loyal  city  of  Athens,  little  excitement  was  to  be  dis- 
cerned; the  lounging  officers  saluted,  and  an  occasional 
civilian  took  off  his  hat.  But  most  of  the  throng  re- 
mained indifferent.  I  could  not  but  be  struck  by  the 
difference  between  republican  France  and  monarchical 
Greece.  In  monarchical  Greece  the  King  of  the  Hel- 
lenes moved  to  and  fro  almost  unnoticed,  like  any  other 
gentleman.  Yet  in  Aix-les-Bains  —  the  famous  water- 
ing-place in  Savoy,  whither  he  goes  annually  to  take 
jthe  waters  —  King  George  is  received  with  regal  splen- 
dor. At  the  Casino  a  part  of  the  terrace  is  railed  off 
for  him  and  his  suite.  So  on  the  terrace  of  the  Hotel 
Splendide  the  royal  apartments  open  through  the  low 
French  windows  on  the  terrace,  and  within  a  railed 
space  the  king  and  his  courtiers  sit,  smoke  cigarettes, 
lounge,  and  chat ;  on  the  non-royal  parts  of  the  veranda 
Pierpont  Morgan  and  other  American  millionnaires  gaze 
enviously  at  Grecian  royalty.  Probably  Pierpont 
Morgan  could  buy  up  Athens  and  not  feel  at  all  pocket- 
pinched.  But  at  Aix-les-Bains  he  must  keep  off  the 

Grecian  grass. 

•Mfr* 

The  antiquities,  the  historic  spots,  the  venerable 
ruins,  in  and  around  Athens,  are  innumerable.  Start- 

[82] 


The  Modern  Stadion 

ing  from  the  centre  of  the  city,  one  of  the  first  you  see 
is  the  Arch  of  Hadrian,  near  the  royal  palace.  It 
formerly  cut  off  the  old  Greek  city  from  the  Roman 
town  of  Hadrian.  Not  far  away  rise  some  sixteen 
gigantic  Corinthian  columns,  all  that  remains  of  the 
Olympieion,  also  completed  under  Hadrian.  Within 
its  precincts,  there  once  stood  one  hundred  Corinthian 
columns;  even  the  few  that  remain  are  imposing  in  their 
lofty  grandeur.  A  short  distance  from  the  Olympieion 
is  the  Stadion,  scene  of  centuries  of  athletic  games. 
The  Stadion  was  laid  out  by  Lycurgus  in  a  natural 
hollow,  which  was  enlarged  and  made  symmetrical  by 
the  hand  of  man.  Part  of  the  ancient  walls  remain, 
but  the  entire  Stadion  is  now  practically  reconstructed 
in  white  marble.  The  work  was  still  going  on  while 
we  were  there.  In  fact,  it  is  already  in  use,  and  served 
in  the  recent  great  revival  of  the  Olympian  games,  to 
which  were  bidden  athletes  from  all  over  the  world. 
The  reconstruction  is  not  the  work  of  the  state,  but  of  a 
private  individual,  Mr.  Averof,  of  Alexandria,  who  has 
already  expended  on  the  work  over  two  millions  of 
francs.  Not  far  from  the  Arch  of  Hadrian  there  is  a 
small,  circular,  temple-like  building  called  the  Monu- 
ment of  Lysicrates;  the  victors  in  the  great  games  of 
ancient  Greece  were  in  the  habit  of  exhibiting  on  these 
monuments  the  prizes  won  by  them  at  the  Stadion. 

Leaving  the  lower  ground  of  the  city  proper,  one 
takes  the  winding  roadway  which  climbs  the  Acropolis 
hill.  First  is  encountered  the  Theatre  of  Dyonysius, 
which  was  brought  to  light  from  under  heaps  of  rub- 


The  City  of  the  Violet  Crown 

bish  some  two  score  years  ago.  It  is  the  typical  ancient 
Greek  theatre,  consisting  of  stage,  orchestra,  audito- 
rium, and  proscenium.  The  marble  seats  rise  up  in 
rows  and  tiers  like  those  of  the  Stadion,  or  the  Roman 
amphitheatres  —  or  a  modern  tent-circus  to  be  under- 
standed  of  the  small  boy.  The  seats  are  in  the  form  of 
a  semi-circle,  facing  the  stage.  This  Theatre  of  Dyo- 
nysius  —  sometimes  called  the  Theatre  of  Bacchus  — 
seated  thirty  thousand  spectators.  On  sitting  down, 
one  notes  that  the  theatrical  syndicates  of  ancient 
Greece  provided  plenty  of  room  for  the  spectators' 
legs  and  feet.  Would  that  the  modern  managers  would 
be  as  generous. 

The  next  most  conspicuous  sight  at  the  base  of  the 
Acropolis  is  the  Odeion  of  Herod  Atticus.  It  seems 
once  to  have  been  a  roofed  theatre,  and  bears  every 
indication  of  having  been  partially  destroyed  by  fire. 
Going  up  the  winding  road,  it  branches  off  here  to  the 
Theseion.  This  is  supposed  to  be  a  temple  to  Theseus, 
although  some  ascribe  it  to  Hercules.  It  is  a  very 
beautiful  building,  and  so  well  preserved  that  one  finds 
it  difficult  to  believe  that  it  is  two  thousand  years  old. 
In  this  regard  it  is  the  finest  ruin  of  ancient  Greece. 
Looking  down  upon  it  from  the  Acropolis  heights  it 
looks  like  a  modern  imitation  of  an  ancient  building. 

Continuing  our  climb,  we  soon  reach  the  Areopagus, 
or  Hill  of  Mars.  It  is  here  that  the  ancient  court  held 
its  sittings.  Soon  we  are  at  the  top  of  the  Acropolis, 
which  is  a  rocky  plateau  about  five  hundred  feet  high. 
Pisistratus  built  here  a  temple  to  Athena,  but  it  was 

[84] 


The  Acropolis  Top 

under  Pericles  that  the  splendor  of  the  Acropolis  began. 
The  temple  of  Athena  Nike  is  a  beautiful  little  ruin 
constructed  entirely  of  Pentelic  marble.  The  name 
comes  from  the  famous  Nike  fastening  her  sandal, 
which  belonged  to  the  frieze  of  which  Lord  Elgin  "  con- 
veyed" four  panels  to  Great  Britain  with  the  other 
Elgin  marbles.  Few  of  the  originals  remain;  they  have 
been  replaced  by  terra-cotta  reproductions.  The  Nike 
tying  her  sandal  is  in  the  Acropolis  Museum. 

From  the  Temple  of  Nike  the  view  is  magnificent 
—  one  sees  the  Bay  of  Phaleron,  the  peninsula,  the 
harbor  and  town  of  Piraeus,  with  Salamis,  and  other 
islands  lying  off  the  harbor,  while  around  are  seen  many 
pinnacle-like  hills,  and  farther  away  the  mountains  of 
Argolis. 

A  magnificent  ruin  is  the  Propylaea;  it  occupies  the 
west  side  of  the  plateau.  From  here  a  footway  climbs 
to  the  inner  precincts  of  the  Acropolis.  At  the  right 
rise  the  ruins  of  the  Parthenon;  to  the  left  the  Erech- 
theion.  Not  far  from  here  we  see  a  large  platform  cut 
out  of  the  rock,  on  which  once  stood  a  colossal  statue 
of  Athena,  the  work  of  Phidias.  The  statue  was  in 
bronze,  sixty-six  feet  high,  in  full  armor,  and  leaning 
on  a  lance.  The  gilded  lance-point  formed  a  land- 
mark to  mariners. 

Nobody  ever  saw  this  statue,  as  it  was  melted  down 
about  two  thousand  years  ago.  But  the  exact  height 
is  accurately  known  —  or  imagined. 

The  Parthenon  stands  on  the  highest  point  of  the 
Acropolis  hill.  Ictinos  and  Callicrates  were  the  archi- 

[85] 


The  City  of  the  Violet  Crown 

tects,  Phidias  was  the  sculptor,  and  the  promoter  was 
Pericles,  for  he  was  the  man  who  raised  the  money. 
It  was  open  for  business  about  438  B.C.,  when  the 
chryselephantine  statue  of  Athena  was  erected.  The 
gigantic  columns  of  the  Parthenon  are  even  more  im- 
posing as  they  lie  in  segments  on  the  ground  than  as 
they  stand.  If  you  walk  up  to  one  of  these  broken 
pillars  and  measure  your  height  against  it  you  will  find 
that  its  diameter  will  be  several  inches  greater  than  your 
height,  even  if  you  are  a  tall  man.  The  drums  of  these 
columns  were  so  perfectly  finished  that  they  were  fitted 
together  without  cement. 

While  attending  a  class,  as  a  youth,  where  we  listened 
to  lectures  on  architecture,  I  remember  my  surprise  on 
learning  of  the  necessity  for  convex  columns,  for  swol- 
len rectangles,  for  diverging  parallels,  and  for  distorted 
right  lines  generally  in  classic  architecture,  and  of  course 
in  modern  as  well.  These  eye-puzzlers  are  plainly 
apparent  in  these  gigantic  Greek  ruins.  If  you  sight 
along  the  stylobate,  or  platform  on  which  the  columns 
stand,  you  can  see  how  markedly  it  diverges  from  the 
horizontal.  So  with  the  steps  —  they  are  not  exactly 
horizontal.  So  with  the  columns  —  they  swell  in  the 
middle.  All  the  pillars  lean  a  little  toward  the  centre  of 
the  building.  These  apparent  errors  —  except  the  last 
—  are  made  to  correct  the  inaccuracy  of  the  human  eye. 

In  the  ruins  of  the  Parthenon  the  keen-eyed  see 
color.  The  triglyphs  are  said  to  have  been  blue  and 
the  metopes  red,  while  the  drops  below  the  triglyphs 
were  probably  gilded.  It  may  be  interesting  to  note 

[86] 


Models  of  the  Parthenon 

that  the  Parthenon  has  Doric,  the  Erechtheion  Ionic, 
and  the  Olympieion  Corinthian  columns. 

In  the  central  aisle  of  the  Parthenon  is  a  dark  quad- 
rangle of  pavement,  on  which  stood  the  statue  of  Athena 
Parthenos,  also  the  work  of  Phidias.  It  was  thirty- 
nine  feet  high,  and  is  said  to  have  been  made  of  gold 
and  ivory,  and  to  have  cost  forty-four  talents  of  gold, 
or  about  three  quarters  of  a  million  dollars. 

Near  the  north  margin  of  the  Acropolis  lies  the 
Erechtheion,  which  contains  the  shrines  of  Athena  and 
other  deities.  The  Portico  of  the  Caryatides  is  famous 
-six  figures  of  maidens  larger  than  life  support  the 
roof  on  their  heads  ;  one  of  these  is  in  terra-cotta,  the 
original  having  been  removed  to  London  by  Lord  Elgin. 

After  a  visit  to  these  magnificent  ruins  one  can  have 
some  idea  of  what  the  Acropolis  hill  must  have  looked 
like  in  the  days  of  "  the  glory  that  was  Greece  and  the 
grandeur  that  was  Rome." 

Many  Americans  have  seen  the  beautiful  colored 
model  of  the  Parthenon  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum, 
New  York.  There  are  several  such  models  to  be  found 
in  the  museums  of  European  cities.  I  do  not  know 
whether  any  model  exists  in  colors  of  all  the  Acropolis 
ruins,  but  after  seeing  the  colored  Parthenon  model 
one  can  readily  imagine  what  must  have  been  the  view 
of  the  Acropolis  hill.  Imagine  passing  through  the 
Propylaea,  seeing  the  Erechtheion  on  the  left,  the  Par- 
thenon on  the  right,  and  the  colossal  statue  of  Athena 
in  gold  and  ivory.  Think  of  gazing  upon  these  mag- 
nificent buildings  in  white  and  black  and  colored 


The  City  of  the  Violet  Crown 

marbles,  bearing  the  masterpieces  of  such  sculptors  as 
Phidias,  and  all  ablaze  with  colors  and  with  gold.  It 
must  have  been  a  very  different  sight  from  our  modern 
ideas  of  cold  marble  buildings  and  statuary. 


There  was  a  time  when  I  believed  that  all  ancient 
statuary  was  without  color.  True,  at  times  I  read  or 
heard  that  there  were  fanatics  who  believed  that  the 
ancient  Greeks  used  color  on  their  marbles.  But  I 
looked  upon  these  as  heterodox  persons,  like  the  be- 
lievers in  the  Bacon-Shakespeare  theory.  I  had  so 
often  heard  the  words  "cold,  calm,  colorless  marble" 
that  I  had  come  to  believe  the  idea  of  colored  statues 
to  be  barbaric.  But  on  visiting  Athens  and  viewing 
the  many  marbles  in  the  Acropolis  Museum,  the  The- 
seion,  and  the  Erechtheion,  no  one  can  doubt  that  the 
old  Greek  sculptors  rioted  in  color. 

I  have  since  looked  the  matter  up,  and  I  find  that  I 
have  lagged  far  behind  the  times.  The  art  critics  in 
but  a  few  years  have  had  a  change  of  heart.  Their 
fluctuating  opinion  might  thus  be  summed  up : 

THESIS  —  THE  ANCIENTS  DID  NOT  USE 
COLOR  IN  MARBLE  STATUARY 

FIRST  AXIOM 

Circa  1883  —  "It  is  preposterous  to  suppose  that 
the  great  plastic  works  of  antiquity  were  other  than 
pure  white  marble." 

[88] 


Color  on  Ancient  Statuary 

SECOND  AXIOM 

Circa  1884  —  "If  the  works  of  the  ancient  sculptors 
had  any  color,  it  was  nothing  more  than  creamy  or 
ivory  tints." 

THIRD  AXIOM 

Circa  1885  — "If  it  be  admitted  that  the  ancients 
used  color  in  statuary,  they  must  have  confined  them- 
selves to  flesh  tints. " 

FOURTH  AXIOM 

Circa  1886  —  "If,  as  is  probable,  flesh  tints  were 
used  by  the  ancients  in  their  statuary,  no  other  color 
than  metal  was  permitted,  which  would  be  needed  for 
armor  and  weapons  —  probably  gold  and  bronze." 

FIFTH  AXIOM 

Circa  1887  —  "If  colors  other  than  flesh  tints  and 
metallic  hues  were  used  by  the  ancient  sculptors,  they 
must  have  been  neutral  tints,  such  as  dull  reds,  buffs, 
and  browns." 

SIXTH  AXIOM 

Circa  1888  —  "No  one  to-day  can  refuse  to  admit  that 
the  colors  used  by  the  ancient  sculptors  were  vivid 
ones." 

SEVENTH  AXIOM 

Circa  1890  —  "It  is  preposterous  to  deny  that  the 
ancient  sculptors  colored  their  statues.  To  state  that 
they  confined  themselves  to  neutral  tints  is  equally 

[89] 


The  City  of  the  Violet  Crown 

preposterous.  Vivid  color  would  have  been  needed 
fitly  to  complement  the  great  works  of  Phidias  and  to 
enable  them  to  harmonize  with  the  azure  skies,  the 
sapphire  seas,  the  intense  reds,  the  cobalt  blues,  the 
emerald  greens  of  Greece." 

ERGO  —  To  THE  ANCIENTS,  MARBLE  STATUARY 
WITHOUT  COLOR  WAS  UNKNOWN 

This  seems  to  me  a  condensed  table  of  the  change 
in  critical  opinion  on  this  color  question.  I  frankly 
admit  that  I  was  behind  the  times.  Now  I  am  up-to- 
date.  Now  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  when  the  Acrop- 
olis was  in  all  its  glory,  and  when  the  great  statue  of 
Pallas  Athena  stood  upon  that  famous  hill,  there  must 
have  been  fully  as  much  color  on  these  magnificent 
marbles  as  one  now  sees  at  the  Eden  Muse*e  or  at 
Madame  Tussaud's  Wax  Works. 

It  occurs  to  me,  however,  that  some  readers  may  look 
upon  the  preceding  paragraphs  as  being  entirely  whim- 
sical. It  is  true  that  they  are  not  verbatim  quotations 
from  critics  of  standing.  But  they  might  easily  be  — 
they  typify  a  tendency.  To  show  that  they  have  a  very 
substantial  foundation  I  append  two  genuine  para- 
graphs from  well-known  writers  on  art,  separated  by 
forty  years. 

From  "A  Handbook  of  Sculpture "  by  Richard  West- 
macott,  Professor  of  Sculpture  in  the  Royal  Academy 
(1856): 

"  The  rich  quality  of  surface  that  appears  more  or  less  in  works 
of  marble  ...  the  ancients  appear  to  have  completed  by  a  process 

[90] 


Chromatic  Recantation 

which  may  mean  not  only  rubbing  or  polishing,  but  applying  some 
composition,  such  as  hot  wax,  to  give  a  soft,  glowing  color  to  the 
surface.  Many  of  the  ancient  statues  certainly  exhibit  the  appear- 
ance of  some  foreign  substance  having  slightly  penetrated  the  surface 
of  the  work  to  about  one  eighth  of  an  inch,  and  its  color  is  of  a 
warmer  tint  than  the  marble  below  it.  Its  object,  probably,  with 
the  ancients,  as  with  modern  sculptors,  has  been  simply  to  get  rid 
of  the  glare  and  freshness  of  appearance  that  is  sometimes  objected 
to  in  a  recently  finished  work,  by  giving  a  general  warmth  to  the 
color  of  the  marble,  a  process,  be  it  observed,  quite  distinct  from 
.  .  .  painting  sculpture  with  various  tints,  in  imitation  of  the  natural 
color  of  the  complexion,  hair,  and  eyes." 

From  "Ancient  Athens"  (1902)  by  Professor  Ernest 
A.  Gardner,  formerly  Director  of  the  British  School  at 
Athens,  and  Yates  Professor  of  Archaeology  in  Univer- 
sity College,  London: 

"  The  rich  and  lively  effect  produced  by  these  statues  [from  the 
Temple  of  Athena]  is  in  great  measure  due  to  the  good  preservation 
of  their  colouring,  which  has  for  the  first  time  given  us  a  clear 
notion  of  the  application  of  colour  to  sculpture  in  early  Greece. 
No  garment  is  covered  with  a  complete  coat  of  paint,  .  .  .  but 
they  have  richly  coloured  borders,  and  are  sprigged  with  finely 
drawn  decorations,  the  colours  used  being  mostly  rich  and  dark 
ones  —  dark  green,  .  .  .  dark  blue,  purple,  or  red.  The  effect  of 
this  colouring,  whether  on  face  or  garments,  is  to  set  off  and 
enhance  by  contrast  the  beautiful  tint  and  texture  of  the  marble. 
Those  who  have  only  seen  white  marble  statues  without  any  touches 
of  colour  to  give  definition  to  the  modelling  and  variety  to  the 
tone  can  have  no  notion  of  the  beauty,  life,  and  vigour  of  which 
the  material  is  capable." 


Not  the  least  remarkable  thing  about  the  Acropolis 
is  the  vast  amount  of  rubbish  to  be  found  there.  Where 
did  it  come  from?  The  propensity  of  the  race  to 


The  City  of  the  Violet  Crown 

"  dump  rubbish  "  in  all  sorts  of  odd  places  is  well  known. 
This  propensity  has  brought  about  the  great  disparity 
between  ancient  and  modern  city  levels.  The  Forum, 
for  example,  is  far  below  the  level  of  the  modern  Roman 
street.  Ancient  Jerusalem  is  over  one  hundred  feet 
below  most  of  the  modern  level.  But  whence  came 
the  rubbish  in  the  Acropolis?  The  hill  is  a  high  one; 
the  climb  fatiguing.  Why  lug  rubbish  to  its  top?  If 
the  race  is  prone  to  indiscriminate  dumping  of  rubbish, 
it  is  more  prone  to  laziness.  How  then  account  for 
the  Acropolis  rubbish? 

The  Acropolis  is  almost  a  solid  mass  of  rock.  There 
is  a  sparse  covering  of  soil,  out  of  which  the  rock  crops 
at  every  turn.  Remembering  Bret  Harte's  happy  title 
for  the  select  verses  of  California's  poets  in  the  early 
quartz-mining  days,  I  thought  that  the  phrase  "  Acrop- 
olis Outcroppings"  would  make  an  excellent  title  for 
the  sentimental  musings  of  the  many  tourists  who  climb 
that  famous  hill.  In  listening  to  them  as  they  rave 
over  the  surroundings,  it  is  easily  to  be  seen  that  they 
rave  to  order.  They  are  ready  to  admire  everything, 
whatever  it  may  be.  One  day  I  noted  a  particularly 
sentimental  lady  who  was  gushing  over  every  object 
visible  in  the  landscape.  When  she  was  shown  the 
hideous  modern  building  called  the  "royal  palace," 
she  gushed  over  that.  When  she  was  shown  the  other 
hideous  building  inhabited  by  the  prince  royal,  she 
gushed  over  that  too. 

"And  what  is  that  other  large  building  —  that  one 
there  on  the  hill?  Is  that  another  palace ?" 

[92] 


Acropolis  Outcroppings 

"  Dat  ?  No  —  dat  no  palace  —  dat  de  lunatic  asy- 
lum," replied  the  guide. 

But  the  sentimental  lady  was  not  to  be  squelched. 
"  Just  look  at  that  lovely  circular  building  in  the  plain," 
she  said  to  her  companion;  "it  reminds  me  of  the  tomb 
of  Cecilia  Metella  on  the  Roman  Campagna.  What 
is  that  round  structure,  guide  —  is  that  a  tomb?" 

"Dat  round  ting?"  replied  the  guide,  following  her 
finger.  "  Dat  not  a  tomb  —  dat  de  gas-works." 

But  the  view  from  the  Acropolis  is  magnificent 
enough  to  inspire  even  the  most  stolid,  not  to  speak  of 
sentimental  female  tourists.  So  beautiful  is  the  view 
that  you  always  see  loungers  on  the  crest  of  the  hill.  It 
is  a  high,  stiff  climb,  and  it  is  surprising  to  find  that 
these  loungers  are  neither  guides  nor  pedlers,  but 
simply  idlers,  such  as  soldiers  and  other  thinking  men. 
It  must  be  the  beautiful  view  which  takes  them  there, 
for  the  drinking-shopsareall  around  the  base  of  the  hill. 

Above  I  have  spoken  of  the  absent  panels  in  some  of 
the  Acropolis  friezes.  There  has  always  been  much 
difference  of  opinion  as  to  Lord  Elgin's  rape  of  the 
famous  marbles  now  in  the  British  Museum.  For  a 
generation  Graecophiles  have  roared  over  his  "van- 
dalism." But  in  London  the  marbles  may  be  seen  by 
hundreds  of  thousands,  while  in  Greece  they  would  be 
seen  only  by  scores.  Then,  too,  had  he  left  them  in 
Greece,  they  would  probably  all  have  been  stolen  by 
private  thieves.  There  is  much  to  be  said  for  Elgin. 
His  chief  crime  would  seem  to  be  that  he  left  any 
marbles  at  all.  It  was  very  careless  of  him  —  he 

[93] 


The  City  of  the  Violet  Crown 

neglected  to  take  much  which  he  might  easily  have 
secured.  Just  think  of  that  beautiful  figure  of  Nike 
adjusting  her  sandal  —  he  left  that  behind.  For  this 
neglect  his  memory  should  be  covered  with  ignominy 
by  a  discriminating  British  populace. 


What  was  the  most  striking  scene  I  witnessed  in 
Athens  —  the  city  of  Pericles,  of  Phidias,  of  Aspasia, 
the  City  of  the  Violet  Crown?  It  was  this.  A  gang 
of  mountebanks  drove  their  wagon  into  the  main  square 
in  front  of  the  royal  palace.  Two  of  them  in  grotesque 
garb,  with  red  noses,  painted  faces,  and  wigs,  mounted 
a  wagon  and  began  their  horse-play;  other  mounte- 
banks beat  the  brass  drum  and  rattled  the  tambourine. 
The  two  mountebanks  in  the  wagon  went  through  all 
manner  of  clownish  tricks,  one  feigning  to  pull  the 
other's  teeth,  to  vaccinate  him,  and  to  set  a  broken 
shoulder,  which  he  did  by  putting  his  foot  in  the  other's 
arm-pit  and  pulling  strenuously  on  the  injured  arm. 
This  was  interspersed  by  violent  quarrels  between 
doctor  and  patient,  and  belaborings  with  stuffed  clubs, 
to  the  great  delight  of  the  assembled  crowd,  who  were 
probably  descendants  of  the  men  of  Thermopylae.  It 
is  only  fair  to  say  that  the  crowd  was  made  up  of  the 
lower  orders,  although  more  than  once  I  noticed  dap- 
per army  officers  approaching  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd 
and  listening  for  a  few  moments  under  the  pretence 
of  doubting  in  which  direction  to  go. 

[94] 


Warriors  and  Tramps 

By  the  way,  you  will  have  noticed  that  in  our  busy 
American  cities  the  hurrying  pedestrians  never  hesitate 
as  to  where  they  intend  to  turn.  When  they  reach  a 
corner,  they  turn  sharply  to  the  right  or  to  the  left. 
When  you  see  a  man  reach  a  corner  and  stop  —  looking 
up  and  down  doubtfully,  as  who  should  say  "which 
way  shall  I  wander?"  —  he  is  usually  a  tramp.  All 
corners  are  alike  to  him.  In  Greece,  the  army  officers 
remind  me  irresistibly  of  our  tramps.  They  seem  to 
have  nothing  to  do.  They  spend  their  time  sitting  in 
front  of  cafe's,  or  aimlessly  wandering  about  the  streets, 
and  when  they  reach  a  corner  they  pause,  hesitate,  scan 
both  directions,  and  finally  drift  doubtfully  in  one, 
exactly  like  our  American  tramps. 

This  is  another  scene  I  saw  under  the  windows  of 
the  royal  palace.  Into  Constitution  Square,  one  day, 
there  flounced  and  flaunted  a  gang  of  merry  maskers. 
It  was,  I  believe,  carnival  day  according  to  the  Greek 
calendar.  These  mummers  wore  shabby,  well-worn 
costumes,  that  had  evidently  done  duty  many  times. 
They  carried  with  them  a  pole  mounted  on  an  iron 
base;  from  the  top  of  the  pole  depended  multicolored 
ribbons.  Soon  they  were  whirling  through  the  mazes 
of  the  merry  May-pole  dance,  to  the  music  of  a  barrel- 
organ,  its  crank  turned  by  a  masker.  This  was  all 
done  so  quickly  that  for  a  moment  it  seemed  spon- 
taneous—  if  masks  and  maskers  ever  are;  even  the 
May-pole  with  its  practicable  iron  feet  might  have  been 
forgotten.  But  when  a  masker,  made  up  as  a  white- 
faced  clown,  suddenly  assailed  the  spectators  with  a 

[95] 


The  City  of  the  Violet  Crown 

rattling  money-box,  the  crowd  melted  away,  and  the 
merry  masquerade  became  perfunctory  and  mechani- 
cal. Well,  masquerades  sometimes  are  in  other  places 
than  Athens. 

The  money  of  Athens  is  a  little  difficult  for  strangers 
to  understand.  The  country  is  not  yet  on  a  coin  basis, 
and  most  of  the  money  is  paper.  The  principal  denomi- 
nations are  ''drachmas"  and  "leptas."  All  kinds  of 
European  money  are  apparently  current,  but  the  natives 
do  not  seem  to  be  quite  certain  what  they  are  worth. 
At  a  cafe*  one  day  three  Americans  were  seated  next 
to  us.  They  ordered  two  chocolates  and  one  ice.  After 
an  animated  pantomime  they  decided  that  the  bill  was 
sixty  cents,  which  they  translated  into  three  francs. 

They  gave  the  waiter  an  English  half-crown,  and  he 
brought  them  back  three  Greek  sixpences  in  change. 
He  then  modestly  (and  expectantly)  drew  aside.  The 
trio  then  discussed  whether  they  would  give  him  a  whole 
sixpence  for  his  tip.  As  they  did  not  know  how  to 
change  it,  they  concluded  to  give  him  the  sixpence. 
But  presently  the  waiter  returned  in  much  excitement. 
He  gathered  up  the  three  sixpences  which  still  remained 
on  the  tray,  and  informed  them  that  these  coins  made 
up  the  exact  amount  of  their  bill.  The  entire  cafe*  then 
gathered  and  debated  the  question  in  seventeen  or 
eighteen  languages.  The  waiter  turned  out  to  be  right 
—  the  half-crown  was  apparently  about  three  Greek 
drachmae.  But  both  parties  to  the  transaction  with- 
drew with  injured  feelings  —  the  waiter  because  he  got 
no  tip,  and  the  Americans  because  they  got  no  change. 

[96] 


STAMBOUL  SEEN  FROM  THE  SEA 


STAMBOUL  SEEN  FROM  THE  SEA 

was  a  beautiful  morning,  and  we  were 
bound  from  the  Piraeus  to  Constantinople, 
steaming  along  the  waterway  between 
Europe  and  Asia.  We  had  left  the  ^Egean 
Sea  behind  us,  and  were  in  the  Dardanelles.  There 
flashed  into  my  mind  the  old  joke  about  the  new- 
rich  family,  who,  on  their  return  from  Europe,  were 
asked,  "When  you  were  abroad  did  you  see  the 
Dardanelles?"  The  family  looked  puzzled  for  a 
moment,  but  Materfamilias,  with  great  presence  of 
mind,  promptly  replied,  "Oh,  yes;  we  met  them 
in  Rome."  I  thought  of  springing  this  aged  story 
on  my  fellow-passengers,  but  it  was  so  venerable  that 
I  refrained.  At  luncheon,  however,  I  heard  the 
story  told  by  the  ship's  wit;  it  was  greeted  with 
roars  of  laughter,  and  was  received  by  all  hands  as 
perfectly  new. 

Beside  me,  on  the  ship's  deck,  stood  a  European 
dragoman  —  one  of  those  queer  mongrels  one  meets  in 
the  Orient,  the  son  of  an  English  father  and  a  Greek 
mother  —  speaking  heaven  knows  how  many  tongues 

[99] 


Stamboul  Seen  from  the  Sea 

with  equal  fluency.  His  English,  by  the  way,  was 
flavored  with  a  strong  cockney  accent.  Him  I  asked, 
"What  is  the  name  of  that  town  on  the  Asiatic  side?" 
indicating  a  city  on  the  starboard  hand. 

"  Better  call  it  Dardanelles,"  briefly  replied  the  drago- 
man. 

At  this  I  took  some  umbrage.  Quoth  I  to  myself, 
"Evidently  this  fellow  thinks  I  cannot  pronounce  it, 
so  he  gives  me  the  name  of  the  waterway  instead  of  the 
town."  I  determined  to  look  it  up,  and  did  so  when 
I  went  below.  In  the  great  atlas  on  the  cabin  table  I 
found  this  pleasing  variety  of  names,  "  Sultaniyeh- 
Kalesi,  or  Chanak-Kalesi,  generally  called  by  Euro- 
peans Dardanelles."  I  did  not  wonder  at  the  drago- 
man's laconicism. 

I  noticed  that  some  of  my  fellow-passengers  pro- 
nounced the  name  "  Dardanee/s,"  while  their  favorite 
pronunciation  of  "Bosphorus"  did  not  rhyme  with 
"phosphorus,"  but  rather  with  "before  us." 

Before  being  permitted  to  land  at  a  Turkish  port  it  is 
necessary  to  secure  a  "tezkereh";  otherwise  you  may 
land,  but  you  may  not  leave.  We  already  had  pass- 
ports vised  by  a  Turkish  consul  in  America,  but  "tez- 
kerehs"  were  necessary  in  addition  —  ten  francs  apiece. 
The  blank  forms  issued  for  filling  out  these  documents 
were  in  French  on  one  side,  Turkish  on  the  other.  One 
passenger  went  to  the  purser  with  his  French  form,  and 
pointing  to  the  phrase  couleur  des  cheveux,  asked: 
"What  does  that  mean?" 

"That?"  said  the  purser;  "that  means  color  of  hair." 

[100] 


Constantinople's  Ideal  Site 

"The  h —  it  does,"  replied  the  passenger.  "I 
s'posed  it  meant  color  of  eyes,  and  I  wrote  blue." 

The  city  of  the  Sultan  looks  much  better  from  the 
water  than  it  does  when  viewed  ashore.  The  tourist 
who  touches  at  the  port,  who  remains  on  board,  and  who 
sees  the  city  only  from  the  sea,  retains  an  entirely  differ- 
ent impression  from  that  of  him  who  goes  ashore.  Seen 
from  the  water,  Constantinople  is  very  beautiful.  Seen 
from  the  shore,  it  is  the  apotheosis  of  everything  that  is 
filthy  and  foul.  He  who  stays  on  board  will  take  away 
a  much  more  picturesque  impression. 

The  site  of  Constantinople  is  ideal.  There  is  prob- 
ably no  finer  site  for  a  city  in  the  world.  It  is  situated 
on  the  Bosphorus,  between  the  Mediterranean  and  the 
Black  Sea;  it  lies  between  Europe  and  Asia,  for  Scutari 
is  a  part  of  Constantinople,  and  Scutari  is  on  the  Asiatic 
shore;  it  is  cut  off  by  natural  boundaries  into  municipal 
divisions,  for  the  Golden  Horn  divides  Stamboul,  the 
Mohammedan,  from  Galata,  the  Christian  city;  so  the 
Bosphorus  divides  Scutari,  the  Asiatic,  from  Constanti- 
nople, the  European  city.  Yet  all  of  these  places  make 
one  great  city  under  the  general  name  "  Constantinople." 
And  this  great  city  is  guarded  also  by  nature :  it  has  the 
Sea  of  Marmora  close  at  hand,  with  fortifications  at 
either  end  of  this  great  water  highway,  rendering  the 
city  unassailable  by  sea;  it  has  a  peninsular  conforma- 
tion which  also  renders  it,  when  properly  fortified,  im- 
pregnable by  land  as  well  as  by  sea.  With  all  these 
factors  in  its  favor,  no  wonder  that  Constantinople  has 
always  been  looked  upon  as  an  ideal  site  for  a  city. 

[*OI] 


Stamboul  Seen  from  the  Sea 

That  so  many  races  should  have  battled  over  Byzan- 
tium for  so  many  hundreds  of  years  is  not  surprising. 

Beautiful,  picturesque,  though  she  may  be,  seen  from 
the  sea,  Constantinople  is  unlovely  from  the  land.  What 
God  has  done  at  this  meeting  of  the  waters  is  entirely 
admirable.  But  the  handiwork  of  man  as  there  set 
forth  excites  sometimes  pity,  and  sometimes  scorn. 

The  bridges  across  the  Golden  Horn  are  such  ven- 
erable, patched-up  wrecks  that  one  wonders  why  the 
Turks  use  them  so  freely.  One  day,  not  long  ago,  a 
piece  of  the  lower  bridge  fell  into  the  water,  carrying 
with  it  three  or  four  dozen  Turks,  who  went  to  the 
Mohammedan  heaven  sooner  than  they  had  intended. 

In  the  Golden  Horn  there  lie  rows  of  Turkish  war- 
ships. These  grim  black  monsters  look  formidable, 
but  I  was  told  that  some  of  them  had  not  been  to  sea 
for  twelve  years,  and  that  their  engineers  do  not  dare 
to  get  up  steam. 

It  is  said  that  in  the  old  days  the  Turks  extended  a 
huge  chain  across  the  mouth  of  the  Golden  Horn,  to 
prevent  war  vessels  from  entering.  No  such  barrier  is 
there  nowadays;  probably  the  Turks  consider  the  Gol- 
den Horn  bridges  to  be  sufficient  barriers  against  hos- 
tile ships.  But  they  are  such  trumpery  structures  that 
a  fleet  of  modern  battleships  could  probably  steam 
through  them  with  very  little  jar. 

One  of  the  striking  features  of  Constantinople  is  its 
gigantic  wall,  parts  of  which  date  from  the  time  of  Con- 
stantine  the  Great.  There  are  numerous  towers  along 
the  walls,  and  the  triumphal  arch  still  stands,  through 

[102] 


Harem  or  Hospital 

which  the  Byzantine  emperors  made  state"entries.  A 
view  of  the  massive  walls  is  interesting,  but  the  way 
around  them  is  through  the  filthiest  and  most  dangerous 
quarters  of  Constantinople.  The  street  boys  are  in 
the  habit  of  hurling  stones  at  visitors,  and  often  have  to 
be  driven  away  by  the  dragomans.  In  the  great  em- 
brasures and  niches  of  the  walls  all  sorts  of  huts  and 
hovels  have  been  built,  and  even  some  houses  of  a 
higher  grade  —  for  Stamboul.  When  asked,  our 
dragoman  assured  us  that  the  dwellers  were  by  no 
means  destitute  of  title  to  their  ground,  for  they  had 
acquired  " permits"  to  build  their  houses  there.  Fancy 
holding  real  estate  in  fee-simple  in  a  hole  in  a  city's 
mediaeval  wall.  Probably  these  "permits"  were  given 
by  minor  officials,  from  the  viziers  down;  that  they 
received  good  bakshish  for  them  is  also  probable. 

The  wall  of  Constantine  extends  across  the  neck  of 
the  peninsula,  and  not  along  the  sea-shore;  it  was  in- 
tended as  a  defence  against  invasion  from  the  land  side. 
There  is  a  wall  along  the  water's  edge,  but  it  is  called 
the  "Harbor  Wall,"  and  extends  from  about  the  point 
where  the  Byzantine  wall  begins,  to  the  Old  Seraglio. 
This  "Harem"  on  Seraglio  Point  is  inhabited  prin- 
cipally by  the  wives  and  favorites  of  former  Sultans. 
According  to  rumor,  many  of  these  ladies  are  extremely 
old;  this  rumor  is  probably  true,  as  some  of  the  inmates 
date  back  to  periods  before  Sultan  Abdul  Aziz.  Here 
is  another  illusion  gone!  According  to  the  poets  and 
the  romancers  the  chief  seraglio  in  the  capital  city  of 
the  Grand  Turk  would  mean  a  collection  of  beautiful 


Stamboul  Seen  from  the  Sea 

Circassians  and  voluptuous  odalisques.  In  reality, 
it  seems  to  be  a  cross  between  a  hospital  and  an  Old 
Ladies'  Home,  and  the  Grand  Turk  never  goes  there. 

Within  the  Seraglio  grounds  is  the  new  Museum, 
erected  in  1891  to  house  the  sarcophagi  of  Sidon.  Here 
may  be  seen  one  of  the  most  beautiful  productions  of 
Greek  art  —  the  so-called  "Tomb  of  Alexander,"  of 
Pentelic  marble,  unearthed  with  twenty-one  other 
sarcophagi  at  Sidon,  in  1887.  Its  form  is  that  of  a 
Greek  temple  and  its  carving  and  coloring  are  exquisite. 
Among  its  polychrome  sculptures  in  relief,  representing 
scenes  of  battle  and  the  chase,  there  is  a  portrait  head 
of  Alexander  the  Great  —  hence  the  name,  "Tomb  of 
Alexander." 

In  Stamboul,  there  are  miles  of  markets  in  the  streets. 
I  do  not  mean  the  great  bazaars,  most  of  which  are 
covered.  But  along  the  open  streets  are  booths  con- 
taining all  manner  of  articles.  Food  and  wearing 
apparel  are  the  most  common,  and  of  these,  bread, 
dates,  and  figs  seem  to  be  the  staple  articles.  These 
eatables  are  exposed  in  the  open,  and  considering  the 
awful  filth  of  the  streets,  it  makes  one  shudder  at  the 
thought  of  eating  them.  I  suppose  the  foreigners' 
hotels  of  Pera,  the  European  quarter,  get  their  supplies 
from  other  sources.  As  we  put  up  in  Pera,  I  sincerely 
hope  so. 

There  are  markets  of  different  nationalities  in  Stam- 
boul. The  city  is  divided  into  various  quarters  —  the 
Greek  quarter,  the  Jewish  quarter,  etc.  —  and  each 
quarter  seems  to  have  its  own  market.  On  the  out- 
[104] 


Crowded  and  Filthy  Streets 

lying  streets,  up  toward  the  Sweet  Waters  of  Europe, 
there  are  spaces  of  ground  where  other  markets  are 
held  on  certain  days  of  the  week.  Among  them  you 
see  old-clothes  markets,  like  the  "rag  fairs"  of  England, 
and  other  markets  in  which  are  sold  old  kettles,  worn- 
out  pots,  ancient  pans,  rusty  ironmongery,  decrepit 
tongs,  broken-winded  bellows,  toothless  curry-combs 
—  objects  that  the  poorest  beggar  in  our  land  would 
not  take  the  trouble  to  carry  away. 

In  some  of  these  crowded  market  streets  you  often 
see  a  cobbler  seated  in  a  hole  in  the  sidewalk,  only  his 
head  protruding  from  the  hole;  behind  him  is  a  lifted 
trap-door,  fastened  to  the  wall.  There  are  many  of 
these  cobbler-shops,  and  the  cobbler  shuts  up  shop  by 
letting  down  the  trap-door.  Often  I  saw  these  cobblers 
working  in  their  dens  in  filthy  streets,  where  gutters 
filled  with  sewage  trickled  under  their  very  noses. 

One  of  the  peculiarities  of  Stamboul  is  the  insolent 
demeanor  of  the  horseman  to  the  footman.  Many 
times  daily  you  will  see  some  rascal  of  a  cabman  trying 
to  drive  down  a  well-dressed  man  on  the  street.  The 
drivers  rarely  take  the  trouble  to  shout  as  they  approach 
pedestrians.  I  was  often  filled  with  wonder  at  observ- 
ing the  meekness  with  which  well-dressed  Turks  on 
foot  submitted  to  such  treatment  from  shabby  Turks 
on  carriage-boxes.  Even  when  no  injury  was  done  to 
such  a  pedestrian,  he  was  often  bespattered  with  mud. 
Stamboul  must  be  an  unpleasant  place  in  which  to 
live.  Were  cabmen  in  our  country  to  treat  pedes- 
trians so  recklessly,  there  would  be  many  cases  of 


Stamboul  Seen  from  the  Sea 

assault  and  battery,  and  I  think  some  mortality 
among  the  Jehus. 

One  day  I  saw  a  uniformed  Turk  picking  his  way 
across  the  street,  using  his  sabre  as  a  walking-stick.  A 
carriage  suddenly  dashed  down  on  him,  and  its  driver, 
after  nearly  running  over  him,  hurled  at  him  a  volley 
of  what  sounded  like  choice  Turkish  abuse.  The  uni- 
formed Turk  retorted  not;  he  scraped  the  mud  off  his 
uniform,  stuck  his  sabre  under  his  arm,  and  waded 
ashore.  In  our  country  a  man  with  a  sabre  would  have 
used  it  on  the  driver's  back.  By  this  I  do  not  mean 
that  the  Turks  are  lacking  in  spirit  —  far  from  it.  But 
apparently  it  would  seem  to  be  the  custom  of  the  country 
that  the  man  on  foot,  as  against  the  man  on  horseback, 
has  no  rights. 

Generally  speaking,  the  native  populace  obey  the 
police  with  much  more  meekness  than  is  the  case  in 
Occidental  cities.  They  seem  to  fear  the  dreaded 
police  magistrate  even  more  than  they  do  the  police 
officer. 

The  police  in  the  Orient  are  frequently  provided  with 
whips  with  which  they  correct  boys,  and  even  men  when 
necessary.  These  whips  seem  to  be  extremely  useful. 
It  is  odd  that  in  America,  a  civilized  and  presumably 
peaceful  country,  police  officers  are  armed  with  deadly 
weapons,  while  in  the  turbulent  Orient  the  police  seem 
able  to  control  the  populace  with  whips  instead  of 
pistols. 

In  the  streets  of  Oriental  cities  there  are  many  rows. 
In  Syrian  and  Egyptian  cities  I  have  often  seen  the 

[106] 


Flimsy  Tinder  Houses 

natives  burst  into  violent  abuse,  and  clutch  at  each 
other's  garments.  But  they  did  not  often  seem  to 
strike  —  a  great  deal  of  abuse  resulted,  but  rarely  more. 
In  Stamboul  I  did  not  see  any  such  encounters  among 
the  Turks ;  there  were  continual  quarrels  there  between 
drivers  and  footmen,  in  which  a  vast  amount  of  Billings- 
gate was  exchanged,  but  these  also  were  generally 
verbal  rows.  There  and  elsewhere  ragged  drivers 
often  abused  well-dressed  pedestrians,  which  attracts 
little  attention  in  the  Orient.  It  must  not  be  supposed 
that  there  are  no  bloody  affrays  in  the  streets  of  Oriental 
cities,  for  there  are  many.  From  my  limited  observa- 
tion they  seem  to  be  principally  between  Levantines. 
The  Turkish  police  do  not  always  display  enthusiasm 
in  separating  belligerents  who  are  not  true  believers. 
I  have  seen  a  couple  of  Turkish  police  officers  gazing 
with  apparent  indifference  on  a  bloody  fight  between 
two  Greeks. 

The  streets  of  Stamboul  are  made  up  almost  entirely 
of  little  wooden  houses,  most  of  them  one  story  high. 
Poor  as  they  are,  the  Turkish  houses  can  always  be 
identified  by  their  latticed  windows.  Galata  and  Pera, 
the  Christian  quarters  of  Constantinople,  are  largely 
built  of  stone,  stucco-covered ;  in  fact,  the  buildings  are 
much  like  those  of  southern  Europe.  There  are,  of 
course,  many  wooden  houses  in  Galata  inhabited  by  the 
poorer  classes.  But  all  of  Stamboul  is  built  of  wood  — 
in  the  Turkish  city  one  sees  mile  after  mile  of  shabby 
wooden  houses.  They  might  be  workmen's  cottages, 
such  as  one  sees  in  manufacturing  towns  in  America, 


Stamboul  Seen  from  the  Sea 

but  they  are  much  inferior  to  the  workmen's  houses  in 
most  of  the  large  towns  of  Europe.  In  European  cities 
wood  is  little  used  for  building  houses:  in  fact,  I  can 
recall  no  city  in  Occidental  Europe  where  its  use  is 
common.  Constantinople,  in  that  respect,  is  much 
like  the  cities  of  western  America.  Like  them,  too, 
vast  amounts  of  money  are  made  —  and  lost  —  in  fire 
insurance.  As  you  drive  through  the  streets  of  Stam- 
boul you  will  notice  that  all  the  trumpery  little  houses 
have  trumpery  little  tin  insurance  labels.  I  observed 
that  these  labels  nearly  all  bore  the  names  of  French 
insurance  companies.  From  the  frequency  of  fires  in 
Constantinople,  the  inefficiency  of  the  firemen,  and  the 
fact  that  the  fires  nearly  always  result  in  total  loss,  the 
stockholders  in  these  insurance  companies  must  be 
desperate  gamblers. 

In  the  insurance  business  there  is  said  to  be  a  "moral 
risk"  as  well  as  a  "fire  risk";  certain  communities  in 
western  America  are  looked  at  askance  by  insurance 
companies,  who  charge  them  high  rates  for  their  low 
morals  and  frequent  fires.  The  risk  from  fire  in  Stam- 
boul is  certainly  very  great  —  I  wondered  whether  there 
is  a  moral  hazard  as  well. 

The  Turkish  women  of  Constantinople  go  about  in 
squads.  The  better  class  often  go  out  to  the  Sweet 
Waters  or  to  points  on  the  Bosphorus  in  groups  like 
large  picnic-parties;  the  poorer  seem  to  use  the  ceme- 
teries as  their  pleasure-grounds.  This  habit  of  going 
about  in  large  bodies  they  extend  to  business  as  well  as 
pleasure.  On  the  street  one  day  I  saw  a  rabble  of 

[108] 


Sleep  in  the  Orient 

women  yelling  and  weeping  in  front  of  a  large  building. 
I  asked  an  explanation,  and  was  told  that  they  were  the 
wives  of  government  employe's,  and  that  they  were 
demanding  their  husbands'  salaries  which  had  remained 
unpaid  for  months.  This  ingenious  expedient  will 
frequently  bring  a  skinflint  minister  to  terms  when 
nothing  else  will.  The  sympathy  the  stranger  feels 
for  these  unfortunate  women  is  somewhat  mitigated 
when  he  learns  that  they  are  not  always  the  injured 
wives,  but  that  they  are  women  who  hire  themselves 
out  as  such  to  any  squad  of  unpaid  employe's. 

The  dogs  of  Constantinople  are  by  no  means  the 
fierce  animals  they  are  often  reported  to  be.  They  are 
poor,  mangy,  shambling,  yellow  curs,  unlike  the  smart 
and  perky  dogs  of  our  western  lands.  They  have  an 
apologetic  and  masterless  air,  and  slink  around  the 
streets  as  if  in  constant  fear  of  the  passers-by.  They 
need  not  fear,  for  the  Turks  treat  them  very  gently,  and 
when  they  lie  in  the  middle  of  the  roadway,  footmen 
step  over  them  and  drivers  go  around  them.  In  fact, 
the  drivers  in  Constantinople  are  more  careful  of  a 
sleeping  dog  than  of  a  waking  man. 

But  the  drivers  sometimes  find  sleeping  men  in  the 
roadways  as  well  as  sleeping  dogs.  When  first  visiting 
the  Orient  I  used  to  wonder  at  the  number  of  sleepers 
to  be  seen  everywhere.  One  sees  men  and  boys  asleep 
on  the  footway,  on  the  roadway,  in  doorways,  on  tops 
of  narrow  walls,  in  carts,  in  boats,  and  on  the  backs  of 
camels  and  asses.  I  have  finally  come  to  believe  that 
the  reason  one  sees  so  many  daytime  sleepers  in  the 


Stambotil  Seen  from  the  Sea 

Orient  is  because  they  have  so  little  chance  to  sleep  at 
night.  After  trying  to  sleep  for  a  number  of  nights  in 
Constantinople  I  concluded  that  in  the  Orient  one  has 
to  scatter  his  sleep  over  the  twenty-four  hours,  and  take 
it  when  he  can.  The  dogs  of  Constantinople  yelp, 
bark,  and  howl  under  your  windows  all  night  long. 
The  Constantinople  paviers,  although  the  streets  are 
the  worst  paved  in  Europe,  seem  also  to  be  the  most 
industrious  in  Europe,  and  apparently  carry  on  their 
noisy  occupation  all  night.  Belated  Europeans  meet 
in  the  streets  under  your  windows,  and  stop  to  talk 
things  over  loudly  and  at  length.  Turkish  early  risers 
meet  each  other  at  three  or  four  o'clock,  and  stop  to 
talk  things  over  even  more  loudly  and  at  greater  length. 
To  crown  it  all,  dreadful  piano-organs  patrol  the  streets, 
beginning  their  blasts  of  sound  before  daybreak.  After 
a  short  stay  in  Constantinople  I  no  longer  wondered 
why  the  Orientals  sleep  in  the  daytime  or  at  any  other 
time.  They  sleep  in  the  daytime  to  even  up.  I  had 
to  do  it  myself. 


In  Marion  Crawford's  cosmopolitan  Constantino- 
politan  story,  "Paul  Patoff,"  he  says,  "I  know  of  no 
fairer  and  sweeter  resting-place  in  life's  journey  than 
the  Valley  of  the  Sweet  Waters  above  the  Golden  Horn." 
When  at  Constantinople  I  was  surprised  at  the  slight 
foundation  for  much  of  the  gushing  of  Gautier  and 
De  Amicis.  Marion  Crawford's  book  in  other  respects 
is  a  striking  story  of  Stamboul,  but  in  my  opinion  there 

[no] 


Unlovely  Sweet  Waters 

is  nothing  unusual  about  the  Valley  of  the  Sweet  Waters 
except  its  name,  and  that  merely  means  " fresh"  water 
as  opposed  to  "salt."  Going  up  the  Stamboul  side 
toward  the  Golden  Horn  you  pass  through  the  filthiest, 
most  malodorous,  and  most  repulsive  quarters  of  Con- 
stantinople. Starting  from  the  Galata  side  of  the 
Golden  Horn  to  reach  the  Sweet  Waters  you  drive 
through  a  desolate  country  and  over  bare  brown  hills. 
The  view  is  not  particularly  attractive  and  the  road  is 
monotonous.  Occasionally  one  may  see  a  Turkish 
patrol  pricking  over  the  hills,  and  that  is  all.  On 
Friday  afternoons  the  Turkish  ladies  repair  there  in 
their  carriages,  but  it  is  not  etiquette  to  look  at  Turkish 
ladies,  and  they  are  not,  as  a  rule,  worth  looking  at 
anyway;  they  may  be  beautiful  in  their  boudoirs,  but 
these  shapeless,  balloon-like  houris  as  seen  in  public 
are  not  attractive.  On  the  banks  of  the  Sweet  Waters 
(a  sluggish  stream  running  into  the  Golden  Horn)  the 
Sultan  has  a  kiosk  in  the  valley,  dignified  with  the  term 
"  Palace."  It  is  a  very  commonplace  wooden  building, 
looking  as  if  it  might  be  a  large  boarding-school.  A 
somewhat  marshy  looking  pond  is  near  it,  around  which 
are  grouped  a  stable  and  a  little  mosque  with  a  little 
minaret  and  doubtless  a  little  muezzin  to  call  the  Sultan 
to  prayer.  Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  all  the  modern 
Turkish  conveniences  are  to  be  found  there. 

As  I  gazed  up  the  unattractive  valley,  at  the  bare 
brown  hills  and  the  dusty  road  over  which  we  had 
come,  at  this  very  commonplace  group  of  buildings,  at 
the  sluggish  stream  and  marshy  pond,  I  repeated  to  my- 

[in] 


Stamboul  Seen  from  the  Sea 

self  mechanically  Marion  Crawford's  words,  "I  know 
of  no  fairer  and  sweeter  resting-place  in  life's  journey 
than  the  Valley  of  the  Sweet  Waters  above  the  Golden 
Horn." 

But  I  don't  think  so. 


Pera  and  Galata  are  the  so-called  Christian  quarters 
of  Constantinople.  Galata,  which  was  once  a  Genoese 
suburb  of  Byzantium,  was  even  ruled  by  a  Genoese 
syndic  under  the  Byzantine  protectorate.  That  the 
Genoese  had  their  city  strongly  fortified  is  shown  by 
what  remains  of  the  massive  walls.  Their  tall  tower 
is  the  most  conspicuous  object  in  Galata,  and  is  now 
used  as  a  watch-tower  by  the  Turks  to  spy  out  Con- 
stantinople's numerous  fires. 

Pera  is  the  quarter  largely  given  up  to  the  foreign 
embassies,  the  consular  offices,  and  the  residences  of 
rich  foreigners.  Here  are  the  shops  frequented  by 
foreigners,  as  also  by  the  Turkish  ladies,  for  we  are 
told  that  one  of  the  factors  most  fatal  to  polygamy  is 
the  taste  of  the  harem  ladies  for  costly  silks,  satins, 
laces,  and  jewels  from  Paris  and  Vienna.  Apropos 
of  this,  it  is  said  that  Constantinople  is  a  favorite  rub- 
bish-heap or  "dump"  for  dealers  to  dispose  of  their 
unmarketable  goods  in  the  shape  of  last  season's 
fashions.  Occasionally  —  so  the  story  runs  —  the 
modistes,  couturieres,  and  milliners  of  Paris  and  Vienna 
fail  to  hit  off  the  feminine  taste.  Like  Beau  Brummel 
with  his  white  ties,  they  say  "these  are  our  failures," 

[112] 


Foreigners  in  Pera 

and  at  once  ship  them  to  Constantinople.  From  the 
appearance  of  the  Turkish  ladies  there  I  am  inclined 
to  think  this  story  is  true. 

In  Pera  is  to  be  found  the  only  comfortable  hotel  in 
all  Constantinople,  the  Palace  Hotel.  Its  front  looks 
out  on  the  crowded  Grande  Rue  de  Pe*ra,  its  rear  on 
vacant  ground  with  a  Turkish  cemetery  in  sight.  But 
so  it  is  in  Constantinople :  filth,  squalor,  and  open  drains 
may  be  found  side  by  side  with  palaces.  An  archaic 
survival  may  be  seen  on  looking  out  from  the  windows 
of  the  Palace  Hotel  —  it  is  a  row  of  sedan  chairs  along 
the  street.  They  are  used  by  old  ladies,  invalids,  and 
some  old  men,  for  many  of  the  streets  are  impassable 
except  to  the  young  and  active. 

Foreigners  living  in  Pera  must  resign  themselves  to 
semi-isolation.  If  their  walls  are  high,  their  neighbors' 
walls  speedily  become  higher.  When  a  foreign  family 
establishes  itself  on  one  of  the  hills  of  Pera  the  Turks 
around  immediately  erect  tall  wooden  palings  or  lat- 
tices shutting  off  the  view.  This  is  partly  on  account 
of  the  Turkish  idea  of  seclusion,  partly  on  account  of 
the  extremely  informal  de*shabille  affected  by  Turkish 
ladies  in  the  intimacy  of  their  grounds  and  gardens. 

Pera,  as  I  have  said,  is  largely  made  up  of  the  resi- 
dences of  rich  foreigners.  Why  any  one  should  desire 
to  live  in  Constantinople,  except  diplomats  and  others 
obliged  to  do  so,  seems  a  mystery.  Still,  this  story, 
told  of  Lord  Stratford  de  Redcliffe  when  he  was  Em- 
bassador  at  Constantinople,  shows  that  there  are 
peculiar  people  who  reside  there:  An  English  widow, 

["3] 


Stamboul  Seen  from  the  Sea 

who  lived  at  Pera,  one  day  grew  dissatisfied  with  her 
English  maid.  Following  the  fashion  of  the  faithful, 
instead  of  scolding  the  maid  she  had  the  woman  sewed 
up  in  a  sack  and  thrown  into  the  Bosphorus.  When 
this  came  to  Lord  Stratford's  ears  he  at  once  made 
complaint.  But  the  Sultan  replied  that  he  "never 
interfered  in  domestic  affairs,  and  this  was  entirely  a 
domestic  affair."  Without  discussing  the  right  of  Turks 
to  regulate  their  domestic  affairs  by  drowning,  Lord 
Stratford  insisted  on  punishment,  and  the  Sultan  at 
last  reluctantly  consented  to  exile  the  English  widow 
to  Crete. 

Of  the  amusements  in  Constantinople,  it  might  be 
said,  like  the  snakes  in  Ireland  —  there  are  no  amuse- 
ments in  Constantinople.  True,  one  often  sees  sketches 
of  brilliant  cafe's  filled  with  picturesque  people  such  as 
one  reads  about  in  "Paul  Patoff."  But  the  reality  is 
disappointing.  The  Constantinople  cafes  are  fre- 
quented chiefly  by  the  cheaper  order  of  Levantines, 
male  and  female.  As  for  the  performance,  it  consists 
mainly  of  ballads  chanted  by  sharp  sopranos  and 
raucous  contraltos.  There  is  an  occasional  dramatic 
performance  by  a  travelling  company  —  Italian  opera, 
French  comedy,  or  Greek  farce. 

While  we  were  in  the  Levant,  French  artists  were 
playing  in  some  of  the  principal  cities  —  Coquelin, 
for  example,  in  Athens,  and  Sarah  Bernhardt  in  Con- 
stantinople. Sarah  brought  with  her  six  plays,  three 
of  which  were  by  Sardou.  To  her  amazement  she 
found  that  all  were  prohibited  by  the  Turkish  authori- 


Turkish  Play-censorship 

ties;  the  reasons  given  were  eminently  Turkish  and 
eminently  peculiar.  "La  Tosca"  was  prohibited 
because  a  prefect  of  police  is  killed  in  the  play.  "Fe- 
dora," because  it  hinges  on  Nihilism  and  the  overthrow 
of  government.  "La  Sorciere,"  because  the  Koran 
is  mentioned  in  the  text.  Of  the  other  three  plays, 
Racine's  "Phedre"  was  tabooed  because  it  is  a  Greek 
drama,  and  the  Greeks  are  notoriously  the  most  rebel- 
lious subjects  of  the  Sultan.  Rostand's  "L'Aiglon" 
was  forbidden  because  it  satirized  the  treatment  of 
Napoleon's  son  by  Austria,  and  therefore  was  calcu- 
lated to  give  offence  to  a  friendly  government.  Thus 
of  the  six  only  one  piece  passed  the  Turkish  censors, 
and  that,  oddly  enough,  was  Dumas's  "La  Dame  aux 
Camelias,"  which  for  years  the  Lord  Chamberlain  has 
forbidden  in  England  on  account  of  its  immorality! 


VI 

THE  SULTAN  AND  THE 
SELAMLIK 


VI 

THE  SULTAN  AND  THE  SELAMLIK 

[E  palace  and  grounds  inhabited  by 
Abdul  Hamid,  the  present  Sultan,  were 
begun  in  1832  by  his  grandfather,  who 
built  on  a  hill  by  the  Bosphorus  a  small 
kiosk  which  he  called  "Yildez,"  meaning  "star."  By 
an  odd  coincidence  this  was  afterward  replaced  by  a 
larger  kiosk  inhabited  by  a  Circassian  favorite  of  Sultan 
Medjid,  whose  name  was  "Yildez."  The  place  was 
successively  enlarged,  and,  finally,  about  the  time  when 
the  present  Sultan  grew  too  timorous  to  live  longer  in 
Dolmabagtche  Palace,  he  removed  to  the  Yildez  estate. 
This  he  entrenched  as  if  it  were  a  fortress.  It  is  an 
immense  park,  scattered  over  which  are  palaces,  kiosks, 
pavilions,  cottages,  and  watch-towers.  New  struc- 
tures are  continually  added,  for  the  Sultan  has  the 
building  superstition  so  common  in  the  Orient.  Sur- 
rounding the  estate  is  an  immense  wall,  which  a  few 
years  ago  the  Sultan  raised  some  thirty  feet.  Sentry 
boxes  and  barracks  are  found  all  along  this  wall.  Within 
the  main  enclosure  is  a  smaller  wall  some  twelve  feet 
thick,  with  iron  doors;  inside  of  this  again  is  the  Sultan's 


The  Sultan  and  the  Selamlik 

private  residence  and  his  harem.  It  is  said  that  he 
has  underground  communication  from  his  residence  to 
other  buildings  on  the  estate.  At  Yildez  there  is  a 
subterranean  structure  built  of  concrete,  ostensibly 
constructed  to  be  earthquake-proof,  although  skeptics 
say  that  it  was  designed  to  be  bomb-proof.  There  is  a 
magnificent  view  of  the  Bosphorus  from  the  hill  where 
the  Sultan's  residence  stands,  and  near  his  kiosk  he  has 
a  small  artificial  lake  on  which  he  rows.  For  his  boat- 
ing he  has  confined  himself  to  this  sheet  of  water  for 
some  years,  fearing  to  go  to  the  larger  lake  in  the  outer 
enclosure.  For  a  long  time  he  has  not  gone  aboard 
his  yachts,  of  which  there  are  several,  so-called,  on  the 
Bosphorus.  Although  presumably  pleasure  craft,  I 
observed  that  the  guns  they  carried  were  not  the  usual 
simple  saluting  battery,  but  business-like,  quick-firing 
cannon,  forward,  amidships,  and  in  the  stern. 

Yildez  is  more  than  a  palace  and  its  grounds:  it  is  a 
small  city,  for  it  contains  farms,  vegetable-gardens,  a 
porcelain  factory,  a  saw-mill,  a  foundry,  a  machine- 
shop,  a  repair-shop,  and  an  arsenal.  There  are  several 
stables,  a  small  one  in  the  Sultan's  private  enclosure, 
and  others  in  different  parts  of  the  estate.  Near  the 
Sultan's  private  stable  there  is  a  fine  riding-school, 
where  the  young  princes  are  carefully  trained  in  horse- 
manship. The  Sultan  was  once  very  fond  of  riding, 
and  up  to  a  few  years  ago  rode  daily  around  his  im- 
mense parks.  He  is  fond  of  animals  generally,  and 
there  are  many  wild  animals  in  cages  at  Yildez;  there 
is  a  deer-park  there,  many  deer  and  gazelles,  several 

[120] 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


His  Private  Mosque 

aviaries,  numerous  pigeon-houses,  flower-gardens,  and 
hot-houses  containing  rare  orchids  and  other  plants. 

According  to  Mohammedan  law  the  Sultan,  as  head 
of  the  church,  must  make  his  formal  prayer  weekly. 
Friday,  the  Mohammedan  Sabbath,  is  the  day  he  goes 
to  prayer.  At  one  time  the  Sultan  was  in  the  habit  of 
crossing  the  Golden  Horn  to  the  mosque  at  the  Old 
Seraglio.  But  fear  of  assassination  has  caused  Abdul 
Hamid  to  remain  within  the  precincts  of  his  own  do- 
main, Yildez  Kiosk.  Here  he  has  had  constructed  a 
little  mosque  of  his  own,  called  after  him,  the  Hamid- 
yeh  Mosque.  It  stands  within  the  enclosure  of  the 
Yildez  Kiosk  grounds,  and  is  visible  from  several  places 
near  at  hand.  One  of  these  is  a  large  parade  ground 
for  the  troops.  On  this  parade  ground  the  Moham- 
medan faithful  are  permitted  to  stand,  and  pilgrims  from 
all  over  Turkey  assemble  there  in  crowds  every  Friday. 
There  is  another  piece  of  rising  ground  whence  a  good 
view  may  be  had;  this  is  accessible  to  European  travel- 
lers who  are  properly  accredited  with  passports  or 
recommendations  from  their  legations  or  consulates, 
and  therefore  may  not  be  bomb-throwers.  At  one  time 
there  was  a  large  pavilion  for  members  of  the  diplo- 
matic corps,  their  guests,  and  travellers  provided  with 
invitations.  But  the  assassinations  of  royal  and  gov- 
ernmental persons  of  late  years  so  terrified  the  Sultan 
that  this  privilege  ceased. 

The  most  interesting  phase  of  the  Selamlik  is  the 
display  of  troops.  There  is  a  large  garrison  at  Con- 
stantinople, from  fifteen  thousand  to  twenty  thousand 


The  Sultan  and  the  Selamlik 

picked  soldiers  of  the  Turkish  army.  Their  brilliant 
uniforms  are  of  every  kind  and  color,  and  they  come 
from  Trebizond,  Smyrna,  Angora,  Erzeroum,  Bagdad, 
Bassorah,  Aleppo,  Beirout,  Lebanon,  Damascus,  Turk- 
ish Armenia,  Albania,  Salonica,  Roumelia,  Koordistan, 
and  Mesopotamia.  They  nearly  all  wear  the  fez,  as  does 
the  Sultan  himself.  Every  man  of  them  is  a  Mohamme- 
dan. Although  the  Sultan  has  many  Christian  subjects, 
no  Christian  is  allowed  to  serve  as  a  soldier;  Christian 
subjects  are  required  to  pay  a  special  annual  military 
tax,  about  equivalent  to  the  cost  of  a  substitute.  The 
troopers  of  the  cavalry  squadrons  are  very  well  mounted. 
The  officers  bestrode  the  most  handsome  horses  we  saw 
in  the  Levantine  cities  of  Europe,  Africa,  or  Asia.  The 
foot-troops  wear  the  red  fez;  most  of  the  cavalry  wear 
a  black  fez;  the  zouaves  of  the  guard  corps  and  some 
artillery  officers  wear  the  green  turban;  while  the  fire- 
men, who  also  are  represented  at  the  Selamlik  parade, 
wear  a  red  helmet  with  a  white  crescent  on  the  front. 
Among  the  various  uniforms  seen  were  those  of  generals 
of  division;  brigade  adjutants;  aides-de-camp;  staff 
officers;  zouave,  infantry,  cavalry,  artillery,  and  uhlan 
officers  of  the  guard;  engineer,  infantry,  artillery,  and 
cavalry  officers  of  the  line;  mountain  artillery;  fortress 
artillery;  light  artillery;  foot  artillery;  cadets  of  the 
military  academy;  officers  and  men  of  the  marine  and 
light  cavalry.  Among  the  light  cavalry  there  are  some 
striking  looking  squadrons;  five  of  these  (about  sixty- 
five  regiments)  which  are  recruited  from  certain  nomad 
tribes  of  Asia,  are  called  the  Hamidyeh  cavalry,  from 

[122] 


Imposing  Military  Display 

the  name  of  the  Sultan  (Abdul  Hamid)  who  organized 
this  corps.  On  a  peace  footing  Turkey  has  about 
255,000  men  of  whom  21,000  are  officers;  this  does  not 
include  the  militia,  the  gendarmery,  the  sanitary,  the 
veterinary,  the  clerical,  or  the  transportation  corps. 
The  number  of  troops  that  Turkey  can  mobilize  is 
1,180,000  with  1,700  cannon.  The  infantry  are  armed 
with  a  Mauser  rifle,  model  1890;  the  cavalry  with  a 
carbine  of  the  same  model.  The  mountain  artillery 
are  equipped  with  rapid  fire  Krupp  cannon. 


It  is  the  day  of  the  Selamlik.  We  are  in  a  large  en- 
closure overlooking  the  Palace  grounds  and  the  gardens 
of  the  Mosque.  Around  us  are  large  numbers  of 
tourists  in  carriages.  They  while  away  the  time  of 
their  long  wait  by  looking  at  the  baskets  of  hucksters 
who  go  from  carriage  to  carriage  noisily  hawking  their 
wares.  Scattered  among  the  crowd  are  " secret  police" 
—  that  is,  they  are  not  in  uniform,  but  very  evidently 
of  the  detective  class.  They  move  about  among  the 
carriages,  looking  for  cameras,  opera-glasses,  and 
lorgnons,  and  warning  the  owners  against  their  use. 

A  vast  amount  of  vapid  talk  goes  on  among  the 
tourists.  But  for  vacuity  and  vapidity  the  talk  between 
the  tourists  and  their  dragomans  is  astounding.  Here 
is  a  sample  dialogue: 

"Does  the  Sultan  pray  every  day?"  asks  a  sharp- 
faced  female  tourist  of  her  dragoman. 

"Once  a  week,  lady." 


The  Sultan  and  the  Selamlik 

"Not  oftener?" 

"No,  not  more." 

"Why  not?" 

Dragoman  gives  it  up.    A  pause. 

The  sharp-faced  tourist  points  her  opera-glass  at  the 
Palace. 

"Must  not  use  opera-glass,  lady,"  mildly  hints  the 
dragoman. 

"Why  not?" 

"It  is  forbid." 

"But  why  is  it  forbid?" 

"I  not  know,  lady." 

"But  I  don't  see  why  I  can't  use  it." 

"  Yes  —  no  —  I  not  see,  but  must  not,"  monotonously 
drones  the  dragoman. 

"But  what  will  they  do  if  I  use  it?" 

"Police  officer  make  very  much  trouble,  lady." 

"But  won't  you  ask  the  officer  if  I  can't  use  mine?" 

"No  use,  lady,  he  not  permit." 

"  But  I  can't  see  the  Sultan  without  my  opera-glass." 

"Yes,  but  it  is  not  permit,  lady." 

"But  I  don't  see  why  not." 

Thus  the  aggrieved  lady  continues  her  moan.  She 
considers  the  restriction  unreasonable,  and  takes  it  out 
of  her  dragoman,  who  probably  chalks  up  his  sym- 
pathy as  labor  performed,  and  takes  it  out  of  her 
bill.  Yet  all  around  her  the  detectives  are  alert, 
watching  for  levelled  cameras  and  opera-glasses,  per- 
haps for  other  things  that  might  be  levelled  at  the 
Sultan  —  who  knows? 

[124] 


Magnificent  Troops 

They  even  peer  under  the  seats  of  carriages,  and  if 
there  is  a  particularly  suspicious-looking  elderly  lady 
who  looks  as  if  she  might  have  a  bomb  concealed,  they 
make  her  rise  while  they  examine  her  many  rugs. 

Occasionally  spans  of  handsome  horses  dash  by, 
attached  to  fine  carriages  containing  red-fezzed  officials. 
Every  few  minutes  troops  of  lancers  and  dragoons  trot 
past,  with  mounted  bands.  They  are  fine-looking 
troops,  and  better  mounted  than  any  cavalry  we  have 
seen  in  Europe,  except  the  crack  corps  in  London. 
Still  these  are  scarcely  fair  samples  by  which  to  judge 
the  Turkish  Army ;  they  are  hardly  troops  of  the  line, 
but  special  corps  belonging  to  the  garrison,  of  which 
there  are  some  twenty  thousand  at  Constantinople, 
although  no  such  number  of  troops  are  present  at 
this  Selamlik.  That  the  magnificent  troops  seen  at 
the  Selamlik  are  not  typical  of  the  Turkish  army  is 
plainly  evident  in  the  smaller  cities  of  Syria;  there 
one  sees  filthy,  frowsy,  ragged  soldiers,  utterly  unlike 
the  dashing  troopers  and  trim  foot-soldiers  at  Stamboul. 

The  troops  take  their  positions,  and  form  a  hollow 
square;  they  completely  surround  the  mosque  and  the 
roadway  leading  from  the  Palace  portal  to  the  doorway 
of  the  mosque.  His  majesty  is  about  to  fare  forth  to 
pray;  on  his  way  he  will  be  entirely  circled  by  steel. 
The  roadway  runs  from  the  imperial  palace  entrance 
down  a  slight  hill  to  the  entrance  of  the  mosque.  A 
gang  of  men  appear,  who  carefully  sweep  and  sprinkle 
this  roadway.  At  exactly  twelve  o'clock  a  high-pitched 
musical  voice  rings  through  the  air.  It  is  the  muezzin 

[125] 


The  Sultan  and  the  Selamlik 

calling  the  Sultan  to  prayer.  Simultaneously  with 
his  call  a  trumpeter  sounds  a  blast,  and  the  thousands 
of  troops  shoulder  arms. 

Down  the  hillside  from  the  Palace  starts  the  advance 
of  the  Sultan's  procession.  This  is  made  up  of  the 
leading  ladies  of  the  harem,  all  in  handsofhe  broughams. 
On  both  sides  of  their  carriages  ride  coal-black  eunuchs; 
they  wear  long  black  frock  coats,  red  fezzes,  and  are 
mounted  on  magnificent  Arabian  horses.  First  of 
these  ladies  is  the  Valideh  Sultana,  the  Sultan's  step- 
mother; she  is  followed  by  various  wives  and  daughters 
of  the  Sultan.  Behind  the  ladies  of  the  harem  rides 
the  Chief  Eunuch,  an  old  and  fat  Abyssinian  negro. 
Next  come  the  Sultan's  sons,  seven,  eleven,  and  four- 
teen years  of  age,  wearing  officers'  uniforms,  and  hand- 
somely mounted.  The  escort  of  the  princes  is  made 
up  of  gray-bearded  cavalry  officers.  Behind  them 
comes  the  cavalry  escort  of  the  Sultan,  picked  soldiers 
on  selected  mounts.  Several  Arabian  horses,  blanketed 
and  hooded,  led  by  grooms,  are  next  in  the  line;  these 
are  the  Sultan's  saddle-horses.  Sometimes,  when  the 
whim  seizes  him,  he  rides  to  the  mosque;  sometimes  he 
drives  there  and  returns  on  horseback.  He  is  fond  of 
riding  and  driving,  and  used  to  be  an  active  horseman 
before  he  shut  himself  up  in  Yildez  Kiosk. 

Following  the  saddle-horses  is  an  open  space.  There 
is  a  pause.  Presently  a  carriage  appears  which  is 
greeted  with  a  continuous  and  curious  cry  from  the 
people  gathered  there,  soldiers  and  populace.  This 
cry,  we  are  told,  is  "Long  live  our  Padishah!"  As  he 


The  Sultan  at  Prayer 

descends  the  gentle  slope,  Abdul  Hamid's  face  and 
figure  are  plainly  to  be  seen  in  his  open  and  roomy 
victoria.  This  day  he  does  not  drive  to  the  mosque 
himself,  but  is  driven.  He  is  simply  clad  in  a  black 
frock  coat  and  a  red  fez.  His  jet-black  beard  owes  its 
color,  of  course,  to  dye.  Amid  the  continuous  roar  of 
the  cheering,  the  Sultan's  carriage  turns  into  the  gates 
of  the  mosque  enclosure.  It  pauses  at  the  stairs,  up 
which  the  Sultan  presently  mounts  with  a  vigorous  step. 
As  soon  as  he  has  entered,  the  crowd  of  courtiers, 
pashas,  and  other  uniformed  officers  press  into  the 
narrow  doorway,  and  for  a  time  the  brilliant  suite  is 
invisible. 

The  Sultan  remains  less  than  half  an  hour  at  his 
devotions.  When  he  emerges,  the  word  of  command 
runs  around  the  thousands  of  troops,  and  with  a  sharp 
slap  they  shoulder  their  muskets.  As  the  Sultan  steps 
into  his  carriage  he  speaks  a  few  words  to  the  gold- 
laced  group  bowing  low  before  him.  He  returns  to 
the  Palace  by  a  different  carriage,  a  phaeton,  to  which 
two  beautiful  white  Arabian  stallions  are  attached. 
He  takes  the  reins  himself,  grasps  the  whip,  and  with  a 
word  his  impetuous  horses  start  up  the  incline. 

Now  comes  a  curious  sight.  As  his  horses  ascend 
the  hill  at  a  quick  trot  his  generals,  his  pashas,  his 
colonels,  and  his  ministers  keep  pace  with  his  horses. 
The  courtiers  are  clad  in  scarlet  and  bullion,  in  blue 
and  silver,  in  green  and  gold;  they  are  gray,  grizzled, 
and  old,  but  they  run  like  so  many  school-boys  behind 
and  on  either  side  of  the  imperial  carriage.  Fortu- 

[127] 


The  Sultan  and  the  Selamlik 

nately  the  run  is  not  a  long  one,  for  many  of  the  pashas 
are  fat  and  scant  of  breath.  But  no  matter  how  old 
or  how  fat,  all  who  are  not  absolutely  disabled  run  by 
their  master's  carriage.  Obesity  is  not  an  exemption; 
age  is  not  a  release.  There  is  no  apology  but  partial 
paralysis;  no  excuse  but  locomotor  ataxia.  This  is 
perhaps  the  Oriental  courtiers'  way  of  indicating  en- 
thusiastic loyalty.  Courtiers  have  always  had  to  do 
humiliating  things,  with  joyful  faces,  in  monarchies. 
Perhaps  they  do  still  —  perhaps  even  in  republics. 
But  what  a  fantastic  spectacle  —  a  lot  of  uniformed 
and  elderly  dignitaries  running  up  a  hill  on  a  hot  day 
—  a  troop  of  perspiring  and  pot-bellied  pashas  sprinting 
after  their  padishah! 


VII 

THE   BREEKS    OF   THE    TURKS 


VII 

THE  BREEKS  OF  THE  TURKS 

BELIEVE  in  telling  the  truth  about 
travel.  It  may  not  much  matter  what  a 
traveller  thinks,  but  it  does  matter  that 
he  should,  if  he  tells  it,  tell  it  truthfully. 
Most  travellers  are  apt  to  rave  to  order.  Like  the 
sheep  of  Panurge,  they  follow  one  another's  tales. 
If  they  have  been  told  that  in  Paris  they  should 
rave  over  the  tomb  of  Napoleon,  they  rave  over 
Napoleon's  tomb.  If  tourists  think  it  is  the  thing  in 
London  to  gush  over  St.  Paul's,  they  gush.  Yet 
many  tourists  pass  St.  Paul's  without  noticing  it 
at  all;  still,  when  stopped,  they  always  obediently 
rave. 

The  truthful  traveller  will  often  admit  his  disappoint- 
ment. When  I  first  visited  London  I  drove  in  a  han- 
som for  miles  across  that  dreary  desert  of  bricks  and 
mortar,  that  forest  of  chimney-pots,  between  Euston 
Station  and  Piccadilly.  I  never  dreamed  there  were 
so  many  dull,  dingy,  ugly  brick  houses  in  the  world. 
Needless  to  say,  I  was  disappointed  in  London.  When 
I  first  visited  Paris  I  drove  from  the  Eastern  Station 


The  Breeks  of  the  Turks 

down  that  long  and  stupid  street,  the  Rue  Lafayette, 
for  what  seemed  miles,  until  we  reached  the  criss- 
cross composer-named  streets  back  of  the  Ope*ra. 
The  Rue  Lafayette,  in  some  respects,  suggests  New 
York's  Seventh  Avenue;  in  others,  it  resembles  London's 
Tottenham  Court  Road;  but  there  was  nothing  about 
it  to  bring  up  before  me  the  Paris  of  which  I  had  read 
—  the  Paris  of  which  I  had  dreamed.  Paris  was  a 
disappointment  —  I  was  frank  enough  to  admit  it, 
even  to  myself.  Later  I  saw  other  quarters  of  Lon- 
don, other  parts  of  Paris,  which  more  than  compen- 
sated me  for  the  Rue  Lafayette  and  Bloomsbury. 

What  most  struck  me  at  Stamboul?  What  were 
my  first  impressions  of  Constantinople,  the  famous 
city  seated  on  the  Bosphorus  and  divided  by  the  Golden 
Horn?  Did  I  think  of  the  Byzantine  emperors?  Of 
the  many  dynasties  who  occupied  the  thrones  of  the 
Empire  of  the  East?  Of  Constantine?  Of  Helena? 
Of  Justinian?  Of  Theodora?  Did  I  think  of  the 
many  dithyrambic  word-paintings  I  had  read?  Of 
the  many  mosques?  Of  the  countless  minarets?  Of 
the  summer  palaces  which  line  the  Bosphorus,  from  the 
Sea  of  Marmora  to  the  Black  Sea? 

No:  to  be  frank,  I  did  not  think  of  any  of  these 
things.  I  did  not  weep,  like  Lamartine;  nor  did  I 
rave,  like  Gautier;  nor  did  I  "turn  hot  and  cold,"  as 
did  De  Amicis.  I  first  gazed  in  wonder  at  the  famous 
bridge  across  the  Golden  Horn  —  a  bridge  reposing 
on  rotting  pontoons,  and  apparently  fastened  together 
with  rusty  wire,  pieces  of  tin-roofing,  old  hoops,  bed- 


Umbrella  and  Sabre 

slats,  and  weather-worn  rope.  Then  what  first  struck 
me  as  I  stepped  ashore  was  the  nether  garment  of  the 
Ottoman.  The  first  man  I  saw  was  an  elderly  Turk, 
attired  in  a  rich  gold-laced  uniform;  girt  by  his  side  was 
agold-hilted  sabre  with  beautifully  enamelled  scabbard; 
as  far  as  his  knees  he  was  trim,  elegant,  and  point-devise; 
but  below  the  knees,  his  uniform  trousers  were  frowsy 
and  filthy.  His  feet  were  clad  in  aged  "congress 
gaiters,"  or  "side-spring  shoes,"  with  gaping  side-elas- 
tics; these  gaping  gaiters  were  thrust  into  still  more 
aged  rubber  galoshes,  which  bore  even  more  evident 
traces  of  the  filth  of  StambouPs  streets. 

As  I  gazed  at  this  gorgeous  person,  gold-laced  above, 
frowsy  and  filthy  below,  a  bulbous  umbrella  in  his  right 
hand,  his  left  holding  a  gold-hilted  sabre,  he  seemed  to 
me  to  typify  the  Ottoman  Turk.  Peace  and  war,  glit- 
ter and  foulness.  His  umbrella  symbolized  peace,  for 
your  umbrella  is  the  least  lethal  of  weapons,  and  your 
Turk  is  peaceful  if  let  alone.  But  his  sabre  meant  war, 
for  the  Turk  is  a  fighter,  and  is  always  ready  to  fight  if 
he  be  attacked.  His  beard  was  gray  —  your  Turkish 
soldier  has  no  age-limit.  Every  male  from  sixteen  to 
sixty  is  eligible  as  a  recruit,  and  therefore  potential 
food  for  powder.  He  was  uniformed,  and  therefore  an 
officer  or  official.  He  was  either  unpaid  or  poor,  for  he 
had  to  walk  through  the  filthy  streets,  as  was  shown  by 
his  umbrella,  his  frowsy  trousers,  his  galoshes,  and  his 
lack  of  a  cab. 

Another  point  that  struck  me  was  that  these  same 
trousers  were  unlike  any  other  trousers  in  sight.  Every 


The  Breeks  of  the  Turks 

man  on  the  street  wore  a  different  kind  of  breeks.  This 
showed  the  lack  of  unity,  the  absence  of  homogeneity 
in  the  Turkish  Empire. 

In  the  Occident  we  all  wear  the  same  kind  of  trou- 
sers. In  London  one  may  see,  of  a  fine  spring  morning, 
several  hundred  thousand  men  in  sleek  silk  hats,  frock 
coats,  and  dark  striped  trousers  —  about  three  fourths 
of  them  going  "  to  the  city"  in  hansoms,  and  the  remain- 
ing one  fourth  not  city  men,  but  idlers  lounging  along 
Piccadilly,  Bond  Street,  or  Pall  Mall,  but  all  in  dark 
striped  trousers.  The  only  break  to  this  monotony  in 
England  is  the  cyclist  in  stockings  or  the  equestrian  in 
boots  and  breeches. 

So  in  America.  When  President  Roosevelt  made  his 
tour  of  our  vast  country,  he  wore  exactly  the  same  kind 
of  trousers  as  every  man  he  met.  All  were  cut  about 
nineteen  inches  over  the  knee,  and  about  seventeen 
inches  over  the  instep.  This  was  true  even  of  the 
President's  favorite  cowboys,  with  the  purely  super- 
ficial difference  that  they  rolled  their  trousers  up,  or,  as 
they  would  express  it,  "wore  their  pants  in  their  boots." 

How  different  the  variegated  trousers  of  Turkey  from 
the  uniformly  creased  trousers  of  respectable  Britain. 
How  different  the  multiform  breeks  of  the  Turks  from 
the  neat  pantings  and  trouserings  of  respectable 
America.  Wherever  I  turned  my  eyes  I  saw  a  different 
kind  of  breeks.  I  saw  the  Montenegrin  galligaskins 
—  tight-fitting  around  the  ankle  and  calf,  looser 
around  the  knee,  voluminous  around  the  hip.  I  saw  the 
Albanian  breeks  —  tighter  even  than  the  Montenegrin 


The  Breeks  of  the  Greeks 

breeks  below,  more  voluminous  above.  I  saw  the  Bul- 
garian breeks  —  so  redundant  that  the  wearer  might 
easily  carry  a  bushel  of  wheat  in  the  seat.  I  saw  the 
Roumelian  pantaloon-like  breeks  —  breeks  much  re- 
sembling the  pantaloons  of  our  great-grandsires,  some 
of  whose  great-grandsons  erroneously  call  their  trou- 
sers "pantaloons."  I  saw  young  officers  of  the  Sul- 
tan's guard  in  smart  riding-breeks,  looking  as  if  they 
came  from  West  End  London  tailors,  which,  perhaps, 
they  did.  I  saw  the  cheap  hand-me-down  breeks  of 
scowling,  sour-faced,  fanatic  old  Turks  —  Christian 
breeks,  made  in  the  sweat-shops  of  Germany,  as  evi- 
denced by  tags  upon  these  trousers  —  baggy  brands  of 
breeks  made  up  specially  in  Christendom  for  the  breek- 
wearers  of  Islam.  I  saw  the  smart  creased  breeks  of 
the  Greek  clerks  going  to  their  Pera  offices.  I  saw  also 
the  genuine  Greek  breeks,  which  are  voluminous  panta- 
looned  petticoats,  or  petticoated  pantaloons.  I  saw 
officers  in  all  kinds  of  handsome  uniform  breeks,  sand- 
wiched in  with  the  coarse  breeks  of  the  common  soldier. 
I  saw  the  gorgeous  gold-laced  breeks  of  the  kavasses  or 
dragomans  of  legations.  I  saw  all  manner  of  laced, 
embroidered,  and  braided  breeks,  which  had  strutted 
their  brief  hour  on  wealthy  Turkish  legs,  thence  to 
descend  to  porters,  to  beggars,  to  donkey-drivers.  And 
I  even  saw  one  poor  Turk  clad  in  ex-grain  bags  bearing 
a  stencilled  stamp  in  English  on  the  dome. 

All  of  these  remarks,  be  it  understood,  apply  to  the 
breeks  of  the  Turks.  As  to  the  breeks  of  the  Turkesses, 
I  will  say  little.  But  the  same  indifference  to  their 

[135] 


The  Breeks  of  the  Turks 

nether-wear  exists  among  the  women  as  among  the 
men.  You  will  see  a  Turkish  woman  richly  clad  so  far 
as  concerns  her  yashmak  and  her  silk  jeridjee,  but  de- 
clining in  elegance  and  cleanliness  as  she  descends. 
Below  the  knee  all  elegance  disappears,  and  a  pair  of 
sleazy,  alpaca,  balloon-like  trousers,  ungartered  socks, 
and  old  yellow  slippers  down  at  heel,  shabbily  finish 
off  the  lady  who  started  so  elegantly  at  the  other  end. 
Another  peculiarity  of  the  Turkish  woman,  with  her 
shabby  trousers  and  slipshod  foot-gear,  is  her  indiffer- 
ence as  to  exposing  that  end  of  her.  While  she  is  ex- 
tremely careful  to  keep  her  face  covered,  she  is  equally 
careless  about  her  legs.  It  is  not  uncommon  to  see  a 
group  of  Turkish  women  sunning  themselves  in  a  ceme- 
tery —  they  apparently  affect  graveyards  as  pleasure 
resorts;  as  they  lie  a-basking  in  the  sun  in  these  cheer- 
ful places,  they  have  an  infantile  fashion  of  pulling  up 
their  trousers  and  scratching  one  bare  leg  with  the  hoof 
of  the  other. 

One  day,  while  on  the  Grande  Rue  de  P£ra  —  a 
busy  street  with  European  shops  —  I  saw  every  now 
and  again  veiled  ladies  whose  attire  seemed  to  demolish 
my  theory.  They  were  bold,  black-eyed  beauties; 
they  wore  very  thin  veils,  which  they  kept  continually 
dropping;  they  were  clad  in  the  same  black  and  white 
garments  as  all  the  Turkish  ladies.  But  in  one  respect 
they  differed  —  they  were  very  trim  about  their  foot- 
gear. Most  of  them  wore  natty  buttoned  boots,  with 
extremely  high  heels,  evidently  of  French  make,  while 
their  hosiery,  of  which  they  made  a  lavish  display,  was 


Imitation  Turkish  Ladies 

of  costly  silk.  Here  was  a  divergence  from  the  shabby 
yellow  slippers  and  the  ungartered  socks.  My  theory 
seemed  in  danger.  I  made  haste  to  confer  with  De- 
metrius Arghyropolos,  our  dragoman. 

"Demetri,"  said  I,  "are  those  ladies  yonder  Turkish 
ladies?" 

"Dose  ladies?"  he  replied,  following  my  ringer;  "oh! 
no  —  dose  ladies  not  Turkish.  Dose  ladies  sometimes 
Franch,  sometimes  Ingleez,  sometimes  Cherman,  some- 
times Bulgarian  —  dat  kind  of  lady  is  anything  —  but 
always  Christian  —  never  Turkish." 

From  Demetri's  manner,  it  was  evident  that  these 
trimly  shod  damsels  constituted  a  distinct  class,  and  I 
made  no  further  queries.  But  it  was  also  evident  that 
my  theories  about  the  Turkish  women's  neglect  of 
their  nether-gear  were  as  well  founded  as  my  observa- 
tions on  the  breeks  of  the  Turks. 


['37J 


VIII 

OF  SMYRNA  AND  OF  BUYING 
THINGS 


VIII 

OF  SMYRNA  AND  OF  BUYING  THINGS 

[F  all  Levantine  cities  Smyrna  is  probably 
the  most  prosperous  but  certainly  the 
least  interesting.  Not  that  points  of 
archaeologic  interest  are  non-existent  there 
—  they  fairly  swarm.  Enthusiastic  dragomans  point 
out  to  agitated  tourists  the  place  where  the  ancient 
Greek  city  used  to  be  when  it  was  destroyed  by  the 
Lydians  six  hundred  years  before  Christ;  the  place 
where  Alexander  the  Great  stood  when  he  determined 
to  rebuild  the  Greek  city;  the  place  out  in  the  water 
where  the  ancient  harbor  used  to  be;  the  river  which 
enthusiastic  Smyrniotes  believe  to  be  the  river  Meles, 
which  Homer  used  to  love;  the  cave  near  the  river 
where  he  used  to  compose  his  poems;  the  spot  on  the 
river  bank  where  his  temple,  the  Homerium,  used  to 
stand.  Over-scrupulous  pundits  point  out  that  "the 
stream"  shown  to  tourists  is  a  dry  bed  of  boulders, 
except  when  torrential  rain  falls,  and  that  the  ancient 
Meles  was  a  mild-mannered  river  and  not  a  torrential 
stream;  but  your  resolute  tourist  pays  little  heed  to  a 
hypercritical  antiquary.  Another  famous  and  better 


Of  Smyrna  and  of  Buying  Things 

identified  river  not  far  from  Smyrna  is  the  Meander, 
whose  crooked  course  has  given  a  word  for  the  windings 
of  countless  rivers  all  over  the  world. 

If  the  enthusiastic  tourist  has  not  been  chilled  by  his 
view  of  these  exciting  sights,  he  may  take  a  railway  trip 
of  a  few  hours  to  see  the  ruins  of  ancient  Ephesus. 
If  when  there  he  cannot  see  the  ruins,  he  may  look  at 
the  site.  If  he  is  unsatisfied  with  the  site,  I  have  no 
more  to  say  to  him.  True,  the  Ephesian  ruins  are 
difficult  to  find,  and  when  found  hard  to  see.  True, 
the  traces  of  the  Temple  of  Diana  are  visible  only  to 
the  trained  eye  of  the  archaeologist  or  the  telescopic  eye 
of  the  dragoman.  But  no  one  can  deny  that  you  are 
shown  a  large  tract  of  ground  on  which  there  are  many 
pieces  of  stone  and  not  a  little  brick.  To  the  tourist 
who  still  retains  his  enthusiasm  there  will  be  shown 
the  site  of  the  prison  where  St.  Paul  was  shut  up;  the 
place  where  the  great  theatre  used  to  be,  and  the  place 
where  the  mob  gathered  and  shouted  "  Great  is  Diana 
of  the  Ephesians!"  He  will  also  be  shown  the  Cave  of 
the  Seven  Sleepers.  The  mystic  number  figures  in 
other  ways  concerning  Smyrna :  it  was  one  of  the  Seven 
Cities  addressed  in  Revelation  by  the  fiery  evangelist 
John  and  one  of  the  Seven  Cities  claiming  to  be  the 
birthplace  of  Homer.  Probably  had  it  been  made 
in  his  lifetime  the  poet  would  have  repudiated  the 
charge. 

Of  the  modern  city  it  may  be  said  that  it  has  two 
hundred  thousand  inhabitants,  of  whom  one  half  are 
Europeans,  principally  Greeks.  The  Smyrniotes,  both 


Bazaar  Disillusions 

men  and  women,  seem  to  be  very  good-looking,  and 
many  of  them  are  remarkably  handsome.  The  city  is 
picturesque  when  seen  from  the  water,  rising  up  on  its 
amphitheatre  of  hills  with  lofty  Mount  Pagus  in  the 
background.  There  are  some  fine  views  in  the  vicinity, 
and  the  Paradise  Aqueduct  traverses  a  beautiful  land- 
scape. But  the  city  proper  is  not  picturesque  or 
attractive  in  any  way.  The  streets  are  narrow,  and 
very  muddy  after  the  frequent  rainstorms.  The 
bazaars,  the  sole  attraction,  are  in  the  most  unpleasant 
quarter  of  the  city.  The  principal  articles  one  finds 
there  are  carpets,  cotton,  sponges,  figs,  raisins,  opium, 
and  other  drugs,  for  Smyrna  is  the  headquarters  of  the 
drug  trade  of  the  world. 

The  mere  mention  of  the  Smyrna  bazaars  will  make 
many  people  think  that  Smyrna  has  at  least  the  re- 
deeming point  of  being  an  excellent  place  in  which  to 
buy  a  few  things.  When  asked  "what  things"?  they 
would  reply,  "Why  rugs  and  —  and  figs,  I  suppose." 
It  may  be  that  they  are  right.  Many  beautiful  Oriental 
carpets  and  nearly  all  choice  Levantine  figs  purport 
to  come  from  Smyrna.  But  I  doubt  whether  they  all 
do.  There  are  finer  exhibits  of  Oriental  carpets  to  be 
seen  in  Occidental  cities  than  in  Smyrna.  Some- 
times I  fear  that  communities  which  have  acquired 
a  wide  and  century-old  fame  for  certain  things  do 
not  always  "make  good,"  to  use  our  picturesque 
American  slang. 

Are  there  not  enthusiastic  travellers  who  dream  of 
drinking  genuine  curacao  in  the  little  island  where  grow 


Of  Smyrna  and  of  Buying  Things 

the  orange  groves  of  Curasao?  Of  sipping  the  real 
Turkish  coffee  in  Turkey?  Of  smoking  the  authentic 
Egyptian  cigarettes  in  Egypt  ?  Of  eating  rich,  melting, 
luscious  Smyrna  figs  in  Smyrna?  Of  washing  one's 
hands  with  the  only  original  Castile  soap  castiled  in 
fair  Castile? 

In  what  wise  do  these  travellers*  dreams  materialize  ? 
Alas  and  alack!  They  are  but  clouds  and  shadows. 
They  don't  come  true. 

For,  on  the  beautiful  islet  in  the  Leeward  Island 
group  where  grew  the  groves  of  Curacao  orange-trees  in 
the  aforetime,  there  are  now  none.  But  the  world,  being 
used  to  the  flavor  of  the  Curacao  oranges  in  its  curacao, 
will  tolerate  no  other.  So  the  world  has  its  way.  The 
liqueur  curacao  is  still  made  in  large  quantities,  but  it 
is  not  a  Curacao  liqueur.  It  is  compounded  out  of 
everything  —  as  it  is  an  orange  liqueur,  it  is  even  made 
of  oranges  sometimes;  but  the  Amsterdam  houses  that 
handle  it  largely  are  said  to  make  it  principally  out  of 
potato  alcohol  and  prune  juice. 

How  about  the  delicious  Egyptian  cigarettes  ?  —  the 
delicate  Egyptian  tobacco?  Alas  again!  The  native 
Egyptian  tobacco  is  so  bad  that  nobody  smokes  it  but 
the  natives,  and  not  even  they  when  they  can  get  any- 
thing else.  In  Egypt,  as  in  so  many  places,  the  tobacco 
comes  from  Somewhere  Else.  The  highest  grade  of 
tobacco  there  is  apparently  imported  from  Europe  — 
from  Roumelia.  The  next  best  comes  from  Northern 
Syria  —  the  best-known  grade  of  this  tobacco  being 
known  to  Europeans  as  "Latakia,"  although  not  so 


Turkish  Coffee  Dreams 

called  in  Egypt.  Persian  tobacco  is  also  imported  into 
Egypt.  In  short,  Egypt  imports  the  tobacco,  the  wrap- 
pers, the  boxes,  and  the  smokers,  and  then  you  have 
the  Egyptian  cigarette. 

"But  still,"  contends  the  enthusiast,  "there  can  be 
no  coffee  like  the  genuine  Turkish  coffee.  Ah,  think 
of  the  Arabian  Nights!  And  Scheherezade !  And 
Lady  What's-Her-Name,  the  English  peeress  who  wore 
Turkish  trousers,  lived  in  Turkey  for  years,  and  sipped 
Turkish  coffee  with  Turkish  pashas.  And  of  the 
bearded  sheiks  in  the  desert  —  with  hubble-bubble 
pipes  —  and  harems  of  beautiful  black-eyed  houris 
—  all  sitting  on  divans  —  and  all  sipping  coffee  — 
with  all  the  comforts  of  a  home  —  out  in  the  desert ! 
Come,  ^ow!  You  must  give  in  on  the  Turkish 
coffee." 

To  this  I  can  only  reply  that  they  may  have  had  good 
coffee  in  Turkey  in  the  time  when  Sultan  Haroun-al- 
Raschid  walked  his  city's  streets  incognito,  but  they 
have  none  now.  You  can  get  better  Turkish  coffee  (so- 
called)  in  Vienna  than  in  Turkey;  you  can  get  much 
better  Turkish  coffee  in  London,  Paris,  or  New  York 
than  you  can  in  Stamboul,  Pera,  Scutari,  Smyrna, 
Beyroot,  Jerusalem,  or  Cairo. 

How  about  the  luscious  figs  of  Smyrna?  My  ex- 
perience was  that  the  nearer  we  got  to  Smyrna  the 
poorer  grew  the  figs.  When  we  reached  Beyroot  they 
were  pretty  bad;  when  we  were  off  Smyrna,  the  pedlers 
brought  some  aboard  that  were  very  bad;  when  we 
got  ashore  at  Smyrna,  we  were  offered  some  on  the 

[us] 


Of  Smyrna  and  of  Buying  Things 

quay  that  were  worse;  in  the  hotel  they  were  wormy; 
and  when  we  got  into  the  heart  of  Smyrna  the  figs  were 
able  to  walk  around  the  dealer's  counter.  It  is  a  fact 
that  we  have  purchased  in  the  leading  groceries  of 
London,  New  York,  and  San  Francisco  very  much 
finer  Smyrna  figs  than  we  saw  in  Smyrna. 

If  it  be  asked  how  Smyrna  figs  can  be  purchased  in 
distant  cities,  which  are  superior  to  the  Smyrna  figs  on 
sale  in  Smyrna,  the  answer  is  that  they  are  specially 
selected  and  specially  packed.  They  are  stamped  in 
English  on  the  boxes,  "Washed  Figs."  This  is  wise, 
but  from  the  fig-dealers  and  handlers  I  saw  in  Smyrna, 
I  think  it  much  more  essential  that  the  fig-handlers 
should  be  washed. 

I  used  to  be  very  fond  of  Smyrna  figs  before  I  went 
to  Smyrna. 

I  have  not  eaten  any  since. 

I  shall  never  eat  any  again. 

Never  mind  why. 

The  subject  of  washing  naturally  brings  me  back  to 
soap.  Once  when  in  Castile  I  found  no  Castile  soap. 
They  did  not  know  what  I  meant;  they  had  never  heard 
of  Castile  soap.  This  irritated  me,  so  I  began  investi- 
gating the  Castile-soap  problem.  I  learned  —  or  was 
told  —  that  Castile  soap  is  not  made  in  Castile;  is  not 
sold  in  Castile;  is  not  used  in  Castile;  that  it  is  made  in 
Marseilles  out  of  olive  oil  imported  from  Palestine. 
Thus  we  note  this  strange  anomaly  —  the  name  given 
to  a  well-known  soap  comes  from  a  country  which  knows 
naught  of  this  particular  soap;  it  is  manufactured  in  a 


Measuring  Wits  in  Shops 

city  using  little  or  no  soap,  out  of  materials  coming  from 
a  country  which  uses  no  soap  at  all. 

When  Americans  indulge  in  "buying  things  abroad," 
do  they  get  good  value  for  their  time,  their  labor,  and 
their  money?  Time  to  an  American  in  Europe  is  a 
costly  item — most  people  spend  several  thousand  dol- 
lars for  not  very  many  weeks  abroad.  Why,  then, 
should  they  spend  so  much  of  their  valuable  time  in 
haggling  with  dealers  over  things  that  they  could  buy 
as  cheap  or  cheaper  at  home  ?  —  this  has  always  been 
a  mystery  to  me.  Similarly,  I  have  never  been  able  to 
understand  why  Americans  abroad  should  sit  at  hotel 
desks  for  so  many  hours  (at  five  dollars  or  ten  dol- 
lars per  hour)  writing  letters  home  to  Cousin  Susan 
and  Aunt  Jane. 

American  tourists  seem  to  believe  they  can  buy 
things  better  in  foreign  places  than  at  home.  I  am 
inclined  to  doubt  this  about  some  things,  and  I  entirely 
disbelieve  it  about  others.  When  it  comes  to  laces, 
jewels,  rugs,  and  carpets,  the  judgment  of  an  expert 
is  indispensable.  Yet  what  American  woman  will 
hesitate  to  measure  wits  with  an  Oriental  in  a  Turkish 
bazaar?  And  what  chance  has  she  for  coming  out 
ahead?  Very  little,  in  my  opinion.  In  purchasing 
goods  like  Daghestan  or  Bokhara  rugs,  about  the  only 
guarantee  is  the  dealer's  honesty.  People  who  buy 
from  pedlers  or  shopkeepers  in  Oriental  bazaars  are 
apt  to  get  fleeced,  and  they  generally  are. 

I  believe  that  the  man  or  woman  who  buys  at  home 
in  the  United  States  generally  fares  as  well  as  —  often 


Of  Smyrna  and  of  Buying  Things 

better  than  —  he  or  she  who  buys  abroad.  The  time 
consumed  in  haggling  in  the  Orient  is  something  awful. 
It  might  much  better  be  spent  in  sight-seeing,  for  ex- 
ample. Time  is  the  most  precious  thing  we  have.  It 
is  the  stuff  of  which  life  is  made,  said  old  Ben  Franklin. 
Lost  money  you  may  recover,  lost  health  regain,  but 
lost  time  is  gone  forever. 

I  have  often  looked  with  pity  on  an  American  woman 
exhausted  by  hours  of  haggling  in  a  punk-scented  and 
foul-smelling  Oriental  bazaar,  and  neglecting  hundreds 
of  beautiful  outdoor  sights  that  she  might  never  again 
have  the  opportunity  to  see. 

Think  of  the  time  consumed;  the  money  spent;  the 
nerve- waste;  think  of  the  transportation,  which  is  justly 
chargeable  against  your  purchases,  for  you  pay  for 
transporting  your  luggage  when  you  buy  your  ticket 
by  steamer  or  rail,  even  when  you  do  not  pay  excess 
luggage,  which  you  generally  do;  think  of  the  risk  by 
loss  or  damage  in  transit  —  a  complete  loss  if  not  in- 
sured, which  baggage  rarely  or  never  is;  think  of  the 
mental  worry  over  the  United  States  customs  inspec- 
tion, which  is  a  terror;  think  of  the  United  States  duty, 
which  must  almost  unquestionably  be  paid.  If  you 
look  into  the  matter,  you  will  often  find  it  would  have 
been  cheaper  to  buy  the  things  from  a  reputable  dealer 
in  your  own  town.  He  or  his  agents  can  select  better 
than  you  can ;  they  have  more  time  and  a  larger  variety. 
He  will  probably  pay  less  than  you  for  duties,  knowing 
the  classification  of  goods  better  than  you.  His  profit 
will  come  to  little,  if  any,  more  than  you  would  pay 


Dishonest  Orientals 

with  these  extras  added.  Last,  but  by  no  means  least, 
you  will  have  the  assurance  that  you  have  bought  what 
you  paid  for.  Not  so  when  you  deal  with  the  Orien- 
tal pedler  or  with  the  shopkeeper  in  a  bazaar.  You 
cannot  even  buy  a  five-franc  sponge  in  the  Orient  with 
the  certainty  that  it  is  an  honest  sponge  and  worth  five 
francs. 

These  remarks,  of  course,  have  their  limitations. 
They  apply  principally  to  the  purchase  of  staples,  so  to 
speak,  or  things  which  are  reproduced  in  large  num- 
bers, or  of  which  there  are  many  replicas.  They  do 
not  apply  to  antiquities,  gems,  intaglios,  and  things  that 
are  unique.  They  do  apply,  for  example,  to  ordinary 
commercial  bronzes  —  no  matter  how  artistic,  these 
are  reproduced  indefinitely;  they  do  not  apply  to  a  cire- 
perdue  bronze  of  which  there  is  only  one  copy  in  the 
world.  They  do  not  apply  to  dwellers  in  Great  Britain, 
whether  subjects  or  denizens;  for  the  customs-laws  of 
that  country  are  so  liberal  that  those  returning  there 
may  bring  practically  anything  in  duty  free,  except 
tobacco,  liquor,  and  Tauchnitz  novels.  But  they  do 
apply  to  dwellers  in  the  United  States,  for  our  customs 
dues  are  so  high  as  practically  to  wipe  out  the  lower 
price  of  goods  purchased  abroad. 

But  waiving  all  these  questions  of  price,  of  time,  of 
trouble,  there  is  another  one.  It  is  the  question  of 
what  is  fitting,  of  what  is  congruous,  of  what  is  apropos. 
The  seeker  after  the  congruous,  the  adorer  of  the  apro- 
pos, is,  when  buying  abroad,  ever  doomed  to  disap- 
pointment. It  is  indeed  a  disillusion  to  learn  that 

[i49] 


Of  Smyrna  and  of  Buying  Things 

there  is  no  Castile  soap  in  Castile,  no  Turkish  coffee  in 
Turkey,  no  curacao  in  Curacao,  no  wormless  Smyrna 
figs  in  Smyrna.  And  it  came  upon  me  with  a  distinct 
shock  when  I  also  learned  that  there  were  no  Jerusalem 
artichokes  in  Jerusalem. 


IX 

BETWEEN    JAFFA    AND 
JERUSALEM 


IX 

BETWEEN  JAFFA  AND  JERUSALEM 

is  not  always  easy  to  reach  Jerusalem 
on  schedule  time.  The  traveller  in  the 
Levant  must  often  resign  himself  to 
threats  of  possible  quarantine,  probable 
quarantine,  actual  quarantine.  It  is  not  feasible  to 
make  any  hard  and  fast  itinerary.  All  itineraries  must 
yield  to  quarantine.  No  steamship  company  will  agree 
to  land  its  passengers  at  any  port  at  any  set  time.  All 
tickets  read  "subject  to  quarantine."  Jaffa,  the  sea- 
port of  Jerusalem,  is  continually  quarantining  against 
Alexandria  for  plague  or  cholera.  Alexandria  is  con- 
tinually quarantining  against  Jaffa  for  cholera  or  plague. 
Then,  when  Jaffa  is  not  quarantining,  the  seas  on  the 
Jaffa  reef  are  frequently  so  rough  as  to  render  landing 
impossible  for  days  or  even  weeks.  Thus  it  is  not  in- 
frequent for  a  traveller  bound  for  Jerusalem  to  spend 
his  time  steaming  between  Constantinople  and  Alexan- 
dria, hoping  that  the  yellow  flag  may  be  hauled  down, 
or  the  sea  grow  smooth  long  enough  for  him  to  disem- 
bark. But  there  have  even  been  cases  of  officials,  like 
consuls,  finding  it  difficult  to  make  their  way  to  their 

[153] 


Between  Jaffa  and  Jerusalem 

posts  at  Jerusalem.  As  some  recompense,  however, 
they  have  the  charm  of  sailing  back  and  forth  along  the 
Syrian  coast.  The  atmosphere  there  is  usually  very 
clear,  and  the  panorama  of  towns  and  villages  along 
the  sandy  shore,  with  the  sharply  outlined  mountains 
rising  behind  them,  is  picturesque.  The  steamships  — 
at  least  in  daylight  —  keep  very  close  inshore. 

When  we  landed  at  Jaffa,  the  sea  was  smooth,  and 
the  disembarking  uneventful.  The  town  is  commer- 
cially important,  but  not  particularly  interesting  to 
tourists.  Furthermore,  the  accommodations  for  travel- 
lers are  not  good.  The  "hotels"  are  few  and  small, 
and  are  in  the  habit  of  sending  their  overflow  guests  to 
a  hospice  kept  by  the  German  colony,  or  to  the  Francis- 
can monastery;  there  too  the  quarters  are  limited,  and 
often  the  tourist  will  find  not  where  to  lay  his  head. 
Even  in  Jerusalem  there  is  but  one  "hotel,"  properly 
speaking,  and  when  that  is  filled  travellers  must  seek 
second-rate  inns,  or  the  hospitality  of  the  hospices. 

Going  up  through  the  filthy  streets  of  Jaffa,  you  see 
mountains  of  luggage  strapped  in  pyramids  on  the  backs 
of  Arabs,  for  no  wheeled  vehicles  are  found  in  the  streets. 
When  you  reach  the  limits  of  the  town  some  venerable 
vehicles  of  the  cabriolet  type  may  be  hired.  We  were 
weak  enough  to  charter  one  of  these  vehicles,  as  we  had 
already  trudged  some  distance  from  the  quay,  and  the 
railway  station  was  still  afar  off.  Scarcely  had  we 
started  when  our  own  driver  and  the  drivers  of  several 
other  vehicles  began  flogging  their  horses,  and  a  wild 
race  began.  I  believe  the  Orientals  are  the  worst 


Inside  the  Jaffa  Gate,  Jerusalem 


Odd  Sights  of  Jaffa 

drivers  in  the  world  —  some  of  them  seem  to  be  crazy. 
Ours  was  the  craziest  in  this  lot,  for  he  soon  distanced 
the  others,  much  to  our  relief,  for  the  road  was  narrow. 
Ere  long  a  crash  behind  us  betokened  disaster.  We 
looked,  and  witnessed  a  complicated  collision,  in  which 
several  travellers  were  hurled  from  their  carriages 
under  the  horses'  feet,  and  some  of  them  badly  hurt. 
No  drivers  were  smashed  up,  which  seemed  a  pity. 
The  natives  paid  little  attention  to  the  injured  persons; 
to  them  the  collision  seemed  a  pleasant  and  exciting 
incident  in  a  rather  dull  day. 

Among  the  odd  sights  of  Jaffa  is  a  collection  of 
cottages  constructed  in  Chicago.  Several  of  these  are 
now  occupied  as  the  "Jerusalem  Hotel."  It  seems 
that  these  incongruous  structures  were  transported  to 
Jaffa  some  years  ago  by  a  Second  Adventist  colony 
from  Chicago.  Some  of  these  colonists  died  of  tropical 
diseases;  others  returned  to  America;  very  few  remain. 

One  of  the  things  most  remarked  by  Occidental 
travellers,  when  landing  in  Palestine,  is  the  railway 
running  from  Jaffa  to  Jerusalem.  It  is  not  much  of  a 
road,  as  it  runs  but  one  train  daily  each  way,  and  even 
its  first-class  carriages  are  poor;  but  any  railway  at  all 
in  that  country  seems  an  anomaly.  The  Jaffa  station 
is  quite  a  distance  from  the  Jaffa  seaport.  The  Jeru- 
salem station  also  is  without  the  city  walls,  some  dis- 
tance from  the  Jaffa  Gate;  the  Turkish  Government 
refused  to  permit  the  railway  company  to  come  within 
the  walls.  The  distance  from  Jaffa  to  Jerusalem  is 
fifty-three  miles,  and  the  trains  make  it  in  three  and  a 


Between  Jaffa  and  Jerusalem 

half  hours,  climbing  from  sea  level  to  over  twenty-five 
hundred  feet. 

On  the  road  from  Jaffa  to  Jerusalem  the  amazing 
amount  of  work  which  has  been  done  in  this  ancient 
land  is  apparent  in  the  terraces.  For  mile  after  mile, 
on  right  and  left  of  the  railway,  you  see  the  mountains 
terraced  from  the  level  of  the  rails  clear  up  to  the  top. 
I  counted  the  rows  of  terraces  several  times,  and  there 
was  an  average  of  seventy,  from  the  bottom  of  the 
ravines  to  the  top  of  the  mountains,  for  twenty-five 
miles  on  both  sides  of  the  railway.  The  labor  which 
these  terraces  represent  is  enormous  —  no  one  genera- 
tion could  have  accomplished  it;  this  task  has  been  the 
work  of  many  centuries.  Merely  to  amuse  myself  I 
made  a  slight  calculation.  The  labor  of  constructing 
one  of  these  terraces  is  about  equivalent  to  that  of 
making  a  rough  roadway.  Therefore,  taking  the 
twenty-five  miles  and  doubling  it  for  the  two  sides  of 
the  railway,  we  have  fifty  miles  of  mountain  terraced 
seventy  times,  which  gives  thirty-five  hundred  miles  of 
road  constructed  in  this  narrow  strip.  Yet  this  repre- 
sents only  one  ravine  or  pass  in  the  mountains;  every 
slope  of  this  mountain  range  is  terraced  in  the  same 
way;  as  this  chain  of  mountains  averages  roughly  in 
width  about  ten  miles,  this  would  give  a  total  of  thirty- 
five  thousand  miles  of  roadway!  Think  of  this  colos- 
sal labor  accomplished  by  human  hands.  And  think 
of  the  number  of  human  hands  —  dead  hands  now  for 
ages. 

These  terraces  are  not  only  planted  with  trees,  such 


A  Blood-Drenched  Soil 

as  the  olive,  but  many  of  them  are  also  sown  with  grain. 
Fancy  planting  grain  in  so  stony  and  sterile  a  country 
that  it  was  necessary  to  make  stone  terraces  and  then 
put  soil  on  top  of  them  in  which  to  sow  the  grain.  Yet 
that  is  how  thousands  of  miles  of  terraces  are  utilized 
in  the  Holy  Land. 

It  is  remarkable  that  the  soil  of  Palestine  should  be 
so  sterile.  For  forty  centuries  —  who  knows  how 
many  more?  —  men  have  killed  each  other  there  in  the 
name  of  all  the  gods.  There,  war  has  been  waged  in 
the  name  of  Assyrian,  Philistine,  and  Egyptian  deities. 
There,  foul  crimes  have  been  done  in  the  name  of  the 
great  Jehovah,  the  pitiless  God  of  the  ancient  Jews. 
There,  in  the  name  of  the  gentle  Nazarene,  the  Crusad- 
ers did  dark  deeds.  There,  in  the  Middle  Ages,  cruel 
Christians  "converted"  Jews  by  the  rack,  the  stake, 
the  torture  by  water,  the  torture  by  fire,  in  the  name 
of  God  the  Father,  God  the  Son,  and  God  the  Holy 
Ghost.  And  now  for  a  thousand  years,  in  the  name 
of  the  Triune  God,  in  the  name  of  the  monotheists' 
Allah,  men  have  been  waging  war. 

Palestine's  soil  is  drenched  with  blood.  Her  rock 
tombs  are  filled  with  the  bodies  of  the  rich  and  great, 
her  soil  is  fertilized  with  the  bodies  of  the  poor  and 
lowly.  This  holy  land  has  been  saturated  with  the 
blood  of  millions  of  men  and  women  killed  in  religion's 
name.  Their  bodies  have  gone  to  enrich  the  gigantic 
de*bris  from  her  rock-ribbed  hills.  Yet  it  is  still  a  sterile 
soil. 

Up  to  the  terraces  of  stone,  along  the  sterile  hills  of 

[i57] 


Between  Jaffa  and  Jerusalem 

Palestine,  the  soil  has  been  carried  from  the  valley  lands 
below.  Rocky  as  are  the  mountain  sides,  the  passage 
of  countless  ages  has  washed  away  enough  debris  to 
form  a  deep  soil  in  the  valleys  and  ravines.  Slowly, 
slowly,  this  soil  has  been  dug  out  and  painfully  carried 
up  by  hand  —  sometimes  almost  to  the  mountain  tops, 
for  the  villages  are  usually  situated  on  the  tops  of  the 
mountains.  Many  of  these  terraces  are  neglected  now, 
and  the  soil  is  slowly  washing  out  of  the  stones  back 
into  the  valleys  from  which  it  was  dug.  The  men  who 
dug  it,  who  carried  it  up  the  mountain,  are  now  them- 
selves a  part  of  the  soil  which  they  once  carried.  It 
may  be  that,  in  another  four  thousand  years,  yet  other 
men,  whose  bodies  are  builded  out  of  the  same  soil,  will 
again  be  carrying  the  decayed  bodies  of  their  remote 
ancestors,  mixed  with  crumbled  granite,  up  the  moun- 
tain sides  of  Palestine. 


On  the  Jaffa  and  Jerusalem  Railway,  at  every  stop- 
ping place  we  were  besieged  by  pedlers  bearing 
oranges.  Never  have  I  seen  such  gorgeous  golden 
apples:  even  California,  favored  land  as  she  is,  can 
produce  nothing  to  compare  with  the  oranges  of  Jaffa. 
We  were  told  that  these  oranges  are  not  exported  in 
large  quantities  —  why,  I  could  not  learn.  If  they 
were,  they  would  prove  formidable  competitors  for  the 
large  orange  trade  of  Northern  Europe.  They  are  far 
superior  to  the  oranges  of  Sicily,  Greece,  or  Spain. 

These  orange-pedlers  were  often  smartly  rebuked 


Palestine  Train  Travellers 

by  a  good-looking  youth  of  some  eighteen  years.  He 
had  taken  passage  on  the  train  in  order  to  urge  some 
passengers  to  hire  his  services  in  Jerusalem;  hence  his 
zeal  against  the  pedlers.  He  had  been  educated  in 
an  American  mission  school,  and  spoke  very  fair  Eng- 
lish. Some  of  the  passengers  entered  into  conversa- 
tion with  him.  He  was  handsome,  brisk  in  speech  and 
manner,  and  generally  attractive.  But  it  is  remarkable 
how  these  Orientals  fail  to  improve  on  acquaintance  — 
in  ten  minutes'  time  he  became  intolerably  pert,  flip- 
pant, familiar,  and  what  is  slangily  called  "fresh." 
Experienced  travellers  in  the  Orient  always  treat  in- 
feriors with  much  severity,  not  to  say  contempt.  At 
first  this  unpleasantly  impresses  an  American,  but  it 
may  be  necessary  by  reason  of  the  Oriental  tempera- 
ment. • 

Looking  from  the  windows  of  the  Jaffa- Jerusalem 
Railway  one  sees  many  stone  walls  and  stone  houses. 
In  Palestine  generally  even  out-buildings  are  largely 
made  of  stone,  while  in  Jaffa  and  Jerusalem  everything 
is  of  stone.  Even  the  very  cisterns,  or  tanks  on  the 
housetops,  are  of  stone.  But  in  the  stony  Holy  City 
the  stone  does  not  stop  with  the  street  level  —  the 
dwellers  descend,  and  burrow  into  the  earth  beneath. 
In  many  of  the  Jerusalem  and  Bethlehem  buildings 
there  are  basements,  sub-basements,  crypts,  sub-crypts, 
and  dungeons.  One  may  descend  several  stories  into 
the  bowels  of  the  earth,  amid  dampness  and  slime,  ooze 
trickling  over  the  stone  steps.  Wherever  you  go  you 
are  taken  to  see  various  sights  down  in  holes  and  bur- 


Between  Jaffa  and  Jerusalem 

rows.  I  do  not  like  these  crypts  and  dungeons;  I 
prefer  to  stay  outside,  and  let  those  who  will  descend  to 
gaze  on  corroded  chains,  mouldy  bones,  and  historic 
stones. 


On  the  train  between  Jaffa  and  Jerusalem  an  elderly 
American  woman  objected  to  the  smoking  going  on 
around  her.  She  grabbed  at  a  uniformed  railway 
guard  who  was  passing  through  the  carriage,  and  shrilly 
set  forth  her  objections.  He  very  civilly  replied  that 
there  was  no  rule  against  smoking  in  the  carriages. 

"Then  there  ought  to  be,"  she  retorted,  "when  ladies 
travel  on  the  trains." 

"But  the  Turkish  ladies  who  travel  on  our  trains  all 
smoke  themselves,"  replied  the  guard. 

"Do  they,  indeed?"  replied  the  old  lady  acidly,  "but 
American  women  do  not  smoke." 

"That  may  be,  madam,"  replied  the  guard;  "but 
you  are  not  in  America,  you  are  in  Turkey."  Still  with 
much  civility. 

"I  don't  care  if  I  am!"  hissed  the  old  lady  fiercely; 
"and  I  don't  care  if  the  Turkish  women  do  smoke. 
They  ought  not  to,  so  there!" 

"Perhaps  they  ought  not  to,"  said  the  guard,  with 
unruffled  courtesy;  "but  they  do." 

The  old  lady  looked  at  him  hopelessly,  gasped,  and 
subsided.  Probably  she  never  before  had  known  a 
man  to  have  the  last  word  with  her.  She  had  a  kind 
of  black  alpaca  make-up,  and  looked  like  a  widow. 

[160] 


An  Educated  Train  Guard 

A  French  wit  once  said  that  the  insane  asylums  are  full 
of  men  who  argued  with  their  wives.  Perhaps  she 
was  only  a  pseudo-widow,  and  her  husband  in  an 
asylum. 

I  was  so  much  interested  in  this  incident,  and  in  the 
guard's  insistent  civility,  despite  his  persistent  dispu- 
tatiousness,  that  I  engaged  him  in  conversation.  I 
found  that  he  was  a  Smyrniote,  and  had  been  educated 
at  Roberts  College,  Constantinople.  In  this  famous 
educational  institution  he  had  acquired  his  suavity  of 
manner  and  his  fluent  English.  But  the  faculty  had 
failed  to  instil  'in  him  the  belief,  deep-rooted  in  the 
American  mind,  of  the  folly  of  arguing  with  an  elderly 
lady. 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


[161] 


X 
JERUSALEM  THE  GOLDEN 


JERUSALEM  THE  GOLDEN 

JERUSALEM  is  not  the  largest  city  in  the 
world,  but  it  is  one  of  the  longest.  Its 
area  is  not  great,  but  it  sticks  back  into 
the  night  of  time  like  the  tail  of  a  comet. 
Therefore,  to  attempt  to  write,  even  superficially,  about 
this  long  but  little  city,  within  the  limits  of  a  chapter, 
would  be  difficult.  It  is  also  difficult  to  decide  how  to 
entitle  such  a  chapter.  One  might  call  it  "The  New 
Jerusalem,"  for  there  is  a  new  and  very  modern  Jeru- 
salem growing  out  of  the  ruins  of  the  old.  But  such  a 
title  would  smack  of  irreverence  to  many. 

"The  Holy  City"  naturally  suggests  itself;  but  what 
I  saw  there  was  wholly  unholy.  "Jerusalem  the 
Golden"  would  be  a  significant  and  telling  title  —  not 
as  an  irreverent  sneer  at  the  Celestial  City,  but  as  sug- 
gesting the  golden  stream  which  pours  into  Jerusalem 
from  all  over  the  world  —  a  stream  of  gold  which  is 
erecting  churches,  synagogues,  mosques,  monasteries, 
and  hospices,  and  which  maintains  in  comfort,  and 
often  in  luxury,  many  thousands  of  idle  human  beings. 
As  you  approach  Jerusalem  from  Jaffa  the  railway 


Jerusalem  the  Golden 

stops  not  far  from  the  Jaffa  gate.  You  see  at  once  that 
there  is  a  Jerusalem  without  the  walls  as  well  as  one 
within.  The  new  Jerusalem  without  the  walls  is  larger 
than  the  inclosed  city.  It  has  numerous  shops,  many 
of  them  not  unlike  those  of  Europe.  Without  the  walls 
are  several  Jewish  colonies,  a  Syrian  orphanage,  an 
English  agricultural  colony,  an  American  colony  called 
"The  Over-Comers,"  and  several  European  consu- 
lates. The  view  of  Jerusalem,  both  the  inner  and  the 
outer  cities,  is  best  seen  from  the  Mount  of  Olives. 

Without  the  walls  one  sees  many  cemeteries.  The 
Jews  lay  flat  tombstones  over  their  dead.  The  Mo- 
hammedans erect  marble  slabs  or  headstones  like  those 
seen  in  our  cemeteries,  but  for  some  strange  reason  the 
Mohammedan  tombstones  all  seem  to  stand  aslant, 
the  effect  of  which  is  most  forlorn. 

Not  far  from  the  railway  station,  and  close  to  the 
Jaffa  gate,  you  are  first  struck  by  the  great  Russian 
reservation.  It  is  difficult  to  fathom  the  designs  of 
Russia  in  Palestine.  The  country  around  Jerusalem 
seems  to  be  a  worthless  one  from  almost  any  stand- 
point, military  or  economic.  From  the  religious  point 
of  view,  it  may  be  worth  possessing.  As  the  Russian 
peasants  are  probably  the  most  bigoted  and  ignorant 
people  in  the  Western  world,  Russia  may  find  it  profit- 
able to  use  the  Holy  Land  as  a  place  of  religious  resort 
for  them.  Pilgrimages  are  continually  being  brought 
here  by  Russia  — the  emigrant  packets  carrying  the 
pilgrims  are  often  convoyed  by  Russian  men-of-war. 
The  enormous  Russian  reservation  at  Jerusalem  is  like 

[166] 


Land  Values  in  Jerusalem 

a  fortified  camp.  It  is  surrounded  by  a  wall,  has  sen- 
tries at  the  gates,  and  is  accorded  extra-territoriality. 
Within  its  walls  are  acres  of  buildings,  from  the  one- 
story  barracks  designed  for  the  peasant  class  to  the 
more  elaborate  hospices  intended  for  the  pilgrims  of 
superior  station.  It  is  practically  a  slice  of  Russia  set 
down  in  the  Holy  Land,  guarded  by  Russian  arms, 
ruled  by  Russian  law,  and  under  the  Russian  flag. 

A  short  distance  outside  the  Jaffa  Gate  are  the  Monte- 
fiore  buildings.  One  of  the  first  movements  toward 
colonizing  the  Jews  here  was  the  erection  in  1865 
of  these  almshouses;  the  first  buildings  outside  the 
walls,  they  were  erected  by  Sir  Moses  Montefiore,  the 
English  millionnaire,  himself  a  Jew.  These  one-story 
buildings,  which  look  like  barracks,  are  absolutely  free 
to  poor  Jews.  Certain  families  among  them  have  lived 
there  for  many  years,  one  family  for  over  a  third  of  a 
century. 

The  New  Jerusalem  without  the  walls  has  sent  up 
the  price  of  land.  To  show  how  land  in  Jerusalem  is 
"booming,"  the  following  prices  are  quoted  in  a  con- 
sular report.  Two  acres  sold  in  1890  for  1,250  francs 
an  acre,  sold  a  year  later  for  3,750  francs.  Twelve  acres 
sold  in  1890  for  2,275  francs,  in  1892  for  10,890  francs 
per  acre.  Just  inside  the  Jaffa  Gate  a  piece  of  land 
which  sold  in  1865  for  5,000  francs  was  sold  in  1891  for 
120,000  francs. 

There  are,  of  course,  later  figures,  but  these  are  the 
only  official  ones  I  was  able  to  secure. 

The  most  successful  land  speculators  are  apparently 


Jerusalem  the  Golden 

the  Russian  monks,  who  are  successful  in  snatching  a 
few  moments  daily  from  their  religious  duties  to  attend 
to  land-dealing.  The  Turks  say  that  these  monks  own 
over  one-fourth  of  the  land  in  Jerusalem.  It  is  evident 
that  these  Russians  doubly  love  the  Holy  Land,  partly 
because  it  is  holy,  but  mainly  because  it  is  land. 


One's  first  impressions  on  entering  any  ancient  and 
historic  spot  are  worth  remembering  —  perhaps  worth 
recording.  Therefore,  it  may  be  well  to  set  down  what 
first  struck  me  on  entering  Jerusalem.  It  was  evening 
as  we  drove  from  the  station  and  entered  the  Jaffa  Gate. 
Almost  immediately  on  entering  the  city  we  left  our  car- 
riage, for  there  are  few  streets  in  Jerusalem  where 
wheeled  vehicles  may  pass.  We  descended  from  the 
carriage  at  the  entrance  of  a  long,  vaulted  passage 
leading  to  the  hotel.  This  ran  under  the  building  for 
some  fifty  yards,  and  was  packed  with  a  motley  gather- 
ing. As  we  made  our  way  through  this  mass  of  hu- 
manity, our  dragoman  turned  to  us  and  said  warningly, 
"Look  out  for  your  pockets."  Then  I  knew  that  we 
were  fairly  in  the  Holy  City. 

It  has  been  my  fortune  to  enter  many  cities  where  I 
knew  nobody.  In  fact,  I  always  expect  to  know  no- 
body in  strange  cities,  although  (so  small  is  the  world) 
I  often  meet  acquaintances  in  out-of-the-way  places. 
But  I  was  quite  certain  I  had  no  circle  in  Jerusalem. 
I  never  had  been  there  before,  I  knew  few  people  who 
[168] 


The  Jerusalem  Nose 

had  been  there,  and  I  never  knew  any  one  who  had 
gone  there  to  stay.  Fancy,  therefore,  my  surprise  the 
morning  after  our  arrival,  as  I  emerged  from  the  hotel 
door,  sniffing  the  rich  and  juicy  Jerusalem  air,  to  find 
myself  accosted  by  a  young  man  with  a  fez  and  a  hooked 
nose.  "Good  morning, "  said  he  cordially.  I  was 
acknowledging  his  salutation,  when  I  was  suddenly 
greeted  on  the  right,  "How  do  you  do,  sir?"  I  looked 
around,  and  there  was  another  young  man  with  a  fez 
and  a  hooked  nose.  "It  is  a  fine  morning,"  came  an- 
other voice.  I  looked  behind  me,  and  there  was  a  new 
friend  hurrying  up.  "I  hope  you  are  well,  sir?"  cried 
a  fourth,  who  arrived  on  a  run.  Bewildered,  I  turned 
around,  when  I  was  accosted  by  at  least  a  dozen  young 
men,  all  bowing,  and  asking  about  my  health,  and  all 
with  fezzes  and  hooked  noses. 

At  first  I  was  a  little  surprised  at  the  extent  of  my 
circle  of  acquaintances  in  Jerusalem,  but  after  they  had 
broken  the  ice  with  remarks  about  my  health  and  the 
weather,  they  came  down  to  business.  They  turned 
out  to  be  drivers,  dragomans,  pedlers,  touts,  and  shop- 
keepers. I  do  not  include  among  my  list  of  acquaint- 
ances the  shoe-cleaning  boys  of  Jerusalem;  they  are  as 
thick  as  mosquitoes. 

It  must  not  be  inferred  from  the  foregoing  that  all 
these  hooked-nosed  gentry  were  Jews.  Not  so.  In  the 
Orient  the  hooked  nose  is  by  no  means  confined  to  the 
Jewish  race.  The  Turks  are,  many  of  them,  singu- 
larly Semitic  in  appearance;  in  Constantinople  many 
of  the  officers  of  the  Sultan's  guard  look  like  handsome 


Jerusalem  the  Golden 

young  Jews,  while  Sultan  Abdul  Hamid  himself  has  a 
strikingly  Hebraic  face.  In  Jerusalem  the  predominant 
type  of  nose,  among  Oriental  Jews,  Occidental  Jews, 
Turks,  and  Armenians,  is  what  we  call  the  Jewish  nose. 
Only  the  Russians  —  of  whom  there  are  many  in  Jeru- 
salem —  depart  widely  from  this  type :  they  have  the 
flat,  Calmuck,  or  Tartar  nose. 

While  I  am  on  the  subject  of  nations  and  noses,  here 
is  a  curious  fact  about  Palestine  —  apparently  no  man 
declares  his  race.  Ask  a  dragoman  of  what  country 
he  is,  and  he  will  reply,  "I  am  a  Moslem."  Another 
will  say,  "I  am  a  Latin";  another,  "I  am  a  Jew."  In 
every  case  I  found  that  the  man  interrogated  replied 
with  his  religion,  rather  than  his  race.  There  was 
one  dragoman  who  hesitated  several  seconds  before 
replying  to  me  when  asked,  finally  saying,  "I  am  a 
Christian."  He  was  a  lame  dragoman  and  easy  to 
identify,  so  I  determined  to  ascertain  his  pedigree.  I 
was  curious  to  see  what  manner  of  man  was  this  who, 
in  this  religious  land,  was  uncertain  about  his  religion. 
I  found  that  the  lame  dragoman  was  the  son  of  a  Judo- 
German  father  and  an  Arab  mother.  The  father 
wanted  to  make  him  a  Jew,  the  mother  wanted  to  make 
him  a  Moslem,  but  as  he  grew  up  he  became  a  drago- 
man, and  made  himself  a  Christian  for  business  reasons. 


Our  hotel  was  immediately  within  the  walls,  near  the 
Jaffa  Gate,  and  naturally  we  saw  much  of  the  life  there. 


Street  Scenes  in  Jerusalem 

It  is  one  of  the  liveliest  places  in  Jerusalem.  Just  out- 
side the  gate,  on  the  Jaffa  Road,  there  is  a  multitude 
of  hucksters'  booths  and  rows  of  native  cafe's,  where 
laborers  sit  on  stools  smoking.  There  are  also  large 
numbers  of  donkey-drivers  waiting  with  their  animals 
for  hire.  Although  the  wall  is  a  massive  structure  and 
the  gate  some  fifty  feet  high,  the  entrance  is  narrow, 
with  a  right-angled  turn  —  one  of  the  methods  adopted 
in  the  old  days  for  defence.  Through  this  narrow  gate- 
way there  pours  an  endless  stream  of  camels,  donkeys, 
and  footmen  all  day  long.  Without  the  gate  you  see 
jostling  camel-drivers,  and  camels  kneeling  to  receive 
their  loads.  Scores  of  hawkers  are  squatting  on  the 
ground  behind  their  heaps  of  oranges,  dates,  lemons, 
onions,  radishes,  and  other  vegetables.  There  are  also 
many  venders  of  bread  —  a  staple  in  Jerusalem,  as  in 
all  the  Eastern  world;  it  is  piled  up  in  stacks,  very  much 
as  we  handle  cord-wood,  and  with  about  as  much 
attention  to  cleanliness.  Many  of  these  food-mongers 
have  a  stock  so  small  as  to  be  pitiable  —  some  two  or 
three  pounds  of  wormy  figs,  for  example,  worth  perhaps 
a  few  pennies.  One  sees  bareheaded  water-carriers 
everywhere,  carrying  their  skins  full  of  water,  women 
carrying  packages  of  fuel  on  their  heads,  other  women 
with  children  "pick-a-back"  on  their  shoulders.  Side 
by  side  with  barefooted  and  barelegged  natives,  one 
frequently  sees  Russian  pilgrims  with  heavy  fur  caps, 
heavy  overcoats  down  to  their  heels,  and  heavy  boots 
to  the  knees  —  quite  a  contrast.  Every  now  and  again 
one  sees  a  diminutive  donkey  with  an  enormous  load 


Jerusalem  the  Golden 

of  olive-tree  orchard  cuttings,  for  in  this  treeless  land 
every  scrap  of  fuel  is  valuable. 

Within  as  without  the  walls,  the  narrow  ways  of  Jeru- 
salem are  lined  with  stalls  containing  all  manner  of 
fruits  and  vegetables.  Many  of  the  venders  are  women ; 
their  garments  are  coarse,  but  they  wear  bright  reds  and 
blues,  sometimes  even  party-colored  gowns,  thus  giving 
much  color  to  the  scene.  In  many  parts  of  the  Orient, 
as  in  Egypt,  women  of  the  poorer  class  dress  almost 
entirely  in  black.  These  female  venders  in  Jerusalem 
sell  eggs,  oranges,  lemons,  melons,  cucumbers,  beans, 
tomatoes,  onions,  and  other  "garding  sass."  Along 
the  streets  are  many  cobblers'  shops,  on  the  shelves  of 
which  are  rows  of  red  and  yellow  slippers  with  turned- 
up  toes.  Scattered  along  the  shops  are  many  cafe's 
which  set  out  small  wooden  tables  in  the  street,  pro- 
vided with  wooden  stools,  and  garnished  with  long- 
stemmed  clay  pipes. 

Jerusalem  is  a  small  city,  and  has  within  it  such  large 
inclosures,  like  the  Citadel,  the  Turkish  barracks,  the 
Armenian  monastery,  and  the  great  Temple  Square, 
that  the  remaining  portion  is  much  crowded.  It  is  a 
walk  of  only  two  and  a  half  miles  around  the  walls. 
The  Temple  Square  is  levelled  off,  but  most  of  the  city 
is  extremely  hilly.  That  the  Jerusalem  of  the  Saviour's 
time  has  become  so  deeply  buried  is  partly  explained  by 
the  many  gorges  now  being  filled  up  immediately  with- 
out the  walls.  Herod's  mighty  palace  is  entirely  buried. 
Its  topmost  portions  are  thirty  feet  below  the  present 
level,  with  the  exception  of  parts  of  the  north  towers. 

[172] 


Subterranean  Jerusalem 

It  was  always  to  me  a  matter  of  wonder  how  Jeru- 
salem came  to  be  so  far  below  the  level  of  the  modern 
city.  I  can  understand  the  buried  cities  of  the  Cam- 
pagna  in  Italy:  some  of  them  were  overwhelmed  by 
lava,  some  by  mud,  some  by  ashes;  on  top  of  these  the 
natural  accretion  of  ages  made  a  new  soil.  But  there 
is  nothing  volcanic  about  Jerusalem  except  the  Greek 
and  Latin  monks  (who  also,  by  the  way,  carry  soil  by 
accretion).  How  can  one  account  for  the  great  depth 
at  which  some  of  the  ancient  ruins  are  found?  For 
that  matter,  there  is  many  a  house  still  inhabited,  the 
level  of  which  is  far  below  that  of  the  present  street;  you 
see  people  going  down  into  these  ancient  houses  as  if 
they  were  burrows.  Then  again,  there  are  ruins  which 
have  been  discovered  in  the  third  story  below  the  earth, 
so  to  speak.  That  is,  there  would  be  a  Jewish  building, 
on  top  of  it  a  Roman  building,  on  top  of  that  a  mediaeval 
building,  and  last  of  all  a  modern  church.  There  are 
some  who  say  that  below  the  Jewish  level  there  are  still 
older  ruins. 

It  was  always  incomprehensible  to  me  how  such  a 
vast  amount  of  rubbish  could  have  accumulated  there. 
If  Jerusalem  lay  in  a  valley,  or  in  a  basin  like  London, 
I  could  understand  it.  But  such  is  not  the  case  —  the 
city  is  twenty-rive  hundred  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
sea.  You  have  to  climb  up  from  the  plains  of  Palestine 
to  reach  Jerusalem,  and  even  when  you  get  to  its 
immediate  surroundings,  you  have  still  to  climb  to  get 
into  the  city.  The  human  race  is  a  lazy  one,  and 
fond  of  dumping  rubbish  into  easy  places ;  but  that  they 

[ml 


Jerusalem  the  Golden 

should  take  the  trouble  to  haul  rubbish  up  twenty-five 
hundred  feet  into  the  air  to  discharge  it  there  seems 
preposterous. 

One  day  in  Jerusalem  this  mystery  was  solved.  (I 
may  remark  parenthetically  that  as  there  are  all  manner 
of  deep  gorges  and  ravines  in  the  modern  city,  doubt- 
less there  were  more  in  the  ancient  one.)  One  day  we 
were  not  far  from  the  Temple  Square  when  we  saw  a 
number  of  carts  busily  at  work  filling  up  a  depression. 
In  this  particular  gorge  or  valley  is  the  famous  Pool  of 
Bethesda.  Now  the  Pool  of  Bethesda,  according  to 
the  antiquarians,  is  a  gigantic  basin  which  was  dug  out 
of  the  solid  rock.  It  is  —  or  was  —  nearly  400  feet 
long,  1 20  feet  wide,  and  over  80  feet  deep.  It  got  lost 
during  the  middle  ages,  some  one,  for  unknown  rea- 
sons, having  filled  it  about  half  way  up.  This  so 
changed  its  physical  aspect  that  the  faithful  ceased  to 
identify  it. 

But  the  lost  pool  was  found,  only  to  be  lost  again. 
The  day  we  saw  it  several  scores  of  Oriental  workmen 
were  laboring  with  asses,  with  carts,  and  with  baskets, 
carrying  earth  to  fill  up  this  gorge.  I  do  not  know  why 
they  were  doing  it;  probably  they  were  levelling  it  to 
erect  some  building  there.  But  the  thought  occurred 
to  me  that  in  fifty  or  a  hundred  years  the  new  building 
will  have  fallen  down;  then  some  archaeologist  will  with 
great  pride  locate  the  Pool  of  Bethesda.  Thereupon 
some  rich  copper,  oil,  or  steel  magnate  will  furnish 
the  funds  for  excavating.  They  will  dig  down  some 
hundreds  of  feet  into  the  gorge  which  we  are  watching 


Quarrelling  Christians 

the  workmen  fill,  and  they  will  discover  the  pool  now 
fast  disappearing  before  our  eyes. 


One  day  we  learned  that  certain  Lenten  festivities 
were  to  take  place  in  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 
According  to  our  Gregorian  calendar,  Lent  does  not 
accord  with  the  dates  of  the  Julian  calendar  followed 
by  the  Greek,  Armenian,  Coptic,  Syrian,  and  other 
Oriental  churches.  The  enormous  edifice  was  crowded. 
Every  nationality  under  the  sun  seemed  represented  in 
the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre.  There  were  almost 
as  many  Moslems  as  Christians,  as  could  readily  be 
perceived  from  the  lofty  balcony  where  we  were  perched ; 
in  the  crowd  below,  the  black,  gray,  and  bald  heads  of 
the  uncovered  Christians  were  thickly  interspersed  with 
the  vari-colored  turbans  and  fezzes  of  the  unbelievers. 

When  I  mention  the  fezzes  I  do  not  include  those  of 
the  Turkish  troops,  of  which  there  was  a  large  force 
drawn  up  in  various  parts  of  the  church.  These  Turk- 
ish troops  are  nominally  there  "to  preserve  order"; 
they  are  really  there  to  prevent  the  Christians  from 
cutting  each  other's  throats.  The  bitterness  existing 
between  the  various  Christian  denominations  in  the 
Holy  Land  is  almost  beyond  belief.  This  hatred  is 
not  between  Catholics  and  Protestants,  for  the  Protes- 
tants are  small  in  numbers,  and  the  Catholics  of  all 
sects  pay  no  attention  to  them.  That  they  do  not  con- 
sider them  Christians  at  all  we  learned  one  day  when 


Jerusalem  the  Golden 

conversing  with  a  sweet-faced  old  nun,  who  presided 
over  the  French  Convent  and  School  of  St.  Anne  in 
Jerusalem.  I  asked  her  if  the  school  was  entirely  for 
Roman  Catholics,  or  "Latin  Christians,"  as  they  call 
themselves  there.  "Oh,  no,  monsieur,"  she  replied; 
"we  admit  not  only  Christians,  but  others  as  well,  in- 
cluding Mohammedans,  Jews,  and  Protestants."  The 
italics  are  mine. 

The  most  bitter  feeling  prevails  between  the  Greek 
Catholics,  the  Armenian  Catholics,  and  the  Latins. 
This  year  (1905)  there  was  a  bloody  fight  in  the  Church 
of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  between  the  various  Christian 
congregations,  which  the  Turkish  troops  were  obliged 
to  suppress  with  force  of  arms.  But  this  was  not  a 
novelty  —  there  have  been  many  such  battles.  The 
disputed  questions  are  those  of  priority :  as  to  which  is 
"the  primitive  church,"  of  precedence  in  festivals,  of 
the  right  to  claim  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  and  of  the  right 
to  occupy  certain  chapels  and  sacred  spots. 

Shortly  after  we  were  installed  in  our  lofty  perch  the 
various  Catholic  denominations  marched  in,  one  after 
another,  visiting  the  different  points  in  the  church. 
The  Sepulchre  itself,  Mount  Calvary  (which  is  in  the 
church),  the  "Centre  of  the  World,"  the  Chapel  of  the 
Finding  of  the  Cross,  the  Chapel  of  the  Crowning  with 
Thorns,  the  Cleft  in  the  Rock,  the  Place  of  the  Scourg- 
ing —  these  are  some  of  the  places  they  visited.  They 
travelled  on  a  set  schedule,  which  had  been  arranged 
by  the  Turkish  military  commander  in  order  to  avoid 
collisions.  It  was  a  remarkable  spectacle,  as  the  pa- 


Loving  Your  Neighbor 

triarchs,  bishops,  and  priests  swept  by,  swinging  censers 
and  clad  in  gorgeous  vestments,  through  long  lines  of 
sneering  Turks  and  weeping  believers.  The  hand- 
somest vestments  were  those  worn  by  the  Greek  priests; 
never  have  I  seen  anything  to  equal  them,  even  in  the 
most  gorgeous  sacristies,  the  richest  treasure-chambers 
of  the  great  cathedrals  of  the  Western  world.  The 
handsomest  men  were  those  of  the  Armenian  faith; 
both  they  and  the  Greek  priests  wear  beards,  and  are 
tall  and  stately  men.  The  beard  lends  dignity  to  the 
priesthood,  and  both  Greeks  and  Armenians  look  better 
than  the  smooth-shaven  Latin  priests. 

As  the  gorgeously  attired  priests  filed  by,  chanting 
their  ritual,  sometimes  in  Greek,  sometimes  in  Syriac, 
sometimes  in  Latin,  it  was  curious  to  watch  the  faces 
of  the  onlookers.  There  was  every  type  among  them. 
The  sneering  Moslems,  of  whom  I  have  spoken,  were 
principally  of  the  better  class,  wearing  the  frock  coat 
and  the  fez.  But  there  were  other  Mohammedans  as 
well:  coal-black  negroes  from  Nubia;  slave-traders  from 
the  Soudan;  Mohammedan  mollahs  with  the  green 
caftan;  Arabs  from  Aleppo,  bearing  the  brown  scars  of 
the  Aleppine  boil;  Bedouins  from  the  desert;  Turkish 
women  in  their  yashmaks  and  jeredjees,  peering  curi- 
ously through  their  thin  veils  at  the  dogs  of  unbelievers; 
nondescript  Syrian  peasants,  bare-footed,  bare-legged, 
and  clad  in  sheepskins.  One  such  was  clad  in  a  sheep- 
skin that  had  belonged  to  several  generations  —  an 
hereditary  sheepskin,  an  heirloom  in  his  family,  as  it 
were.  He  was  my  neighbor  for  a  time,  and  was  too 

[177] 


Jerusalem  the  Golden 

close  to  me  to  be  agreeable.  Whenever  I  think  of  that 
hereditary  sheepskin,  I  shudder.  He  was  my  neigh- 
bor, and  being  in  Palestine  I  should  have  loved  him. 
But  if  you  think  it  is  hard  to  love  your  neighbor  in  your 
own  neighborhood  you  ought  to  try  it  in  Jerusalem. 


One  incident  at  this  Lenten  function  in  the  Church 
of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  surprised  us.  When  the  Latin 
procession  —  that  is,  the  Roman  Catholic  —  entered, 
the  French  consul  and  his  suite  were  following  them; 
the  consul  and  the  vice-consul  were  in  full  uniform,  the 
secretary  and  two  or  three  clerks  were  in  swallow-tail 
coats  and  white  ties,  and  all  were  carrying  large,  fat 
candles,  about  four  feet  high.  Why  was  the  French 
consul  attending  this  Roman  Catholic  function  at  Jeru- 
salem? At  that  very  time  France  was  engaged  in  driv- 
ing out  the  religious  from  convents  and  monasteries  in 
France.  Even  in  Jerusalem  some  of  the  expatriated 
religious  were  to  be  found  in  the  institution  of  the  Sceurs 
Re*paratrices,  on  the  hill  above  our  hotel.  Why  does 
France  with  one  hand  whip  the  religious  from  her  fron- 
tiers, while  with  the  other  she  piously  holds  candles  at 
Roman  Catholic  functions  in  Jerusalem  ? 

And  the  French  consular  corps  —  how  did  they  look? 
Well,  it  was  rather  droll.  The  consul  was  a  good- 
looking  man  of  about  thirty,  in  a  handsome  uniform, 
and  carried  a  gold-laced  cocked  hat  under  his  arm.  He 
was  holding  his  candle  listlessly,  but  still  tilted  forward 

[178] 


A  Suite  Flirtation 

so  that  the  grease  should  not  fall  on  his  gold-laced 
trousers  or  patent-leather  boots.  The  vice-consul  had 
also  fallen  into  a  weak-kneed  condition  of  boredom, 
and,  with  his  head  sunk  upon  his  chest,  was  apparently 
thinking  of  his  early  loves.  The  secretaries  and  clerks 
of  the  consulate  were  yawning,  and  the  general  air  of 
the  party  was  one  of  extreme  ennui.  In  front  of  them 
were  the  rows  of  prostrate  priests  rapidly  mumbling 
their  ritual,  while  around  them  was  the  human  mass  of 
filth,  squalor,  and  ignorance,  Christian  and  Moham- 
medan. 

A  Russian  moujik  had  forced  his  way  through  the 
crowd,  and,  seeing  the  altar,  flung  himself  on  the  dirty 
pavement  and  began  kissing  the  stones  with  loud 
smacks,  having  first  wiped  his  lips  with  his  sleeve.  I 
should  think  he  would  first  have  wiped  the  pavement 
and  next  his  sleeve,  but  there  is  no  accounting  for  tastes. 
As  he  was  rising  from  one  of  his  genuflections  he  took 
his  eyes  from  the  altar,  looked  at  the  priests,  then  at  the 
consuls ;  with  a  scowl  he  withdrew  —  he  was  in  the 
wrong  shop  —  he  belonged  to  the  Greek  Catholic  outfit, 
and  he  made  haste  to  shake  from  his  shoes  the  very 
dust  of  the  Latin  Catholic  procession. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  mass  of  people  that  the 
French  consular  suite  were  standing  with  their  candles, 
when  a  group  of  six  or  eight  young  women  appeared, 
their  dragoman  having  made  a  way  for  them  in  the 
front  rank  of  the  crowd.  The  moment  the  consul  saw 
them,  he  straightened  up  and  threw  out  his  chest;  the 
vice-consul  noted  his  superior,  followed  the  direction 


Jerusalem  the  Golden 

of  his  eyes,  and,  seeing  the  guide-book  ladies,  began  to 
twirl  his  mustache.  The  clerks  and  secretaries  obe- 
diently followed  suit,  and  in  about  thirty  seconds  the 
entire  staff  were  neglecting  the  Holy  Sepulchre  and  the 
whole  business,  and  trying  to  mash  the  girls.  It  was 
very  human. 


[180] 


XI 

GABRIEL  AND   URIEL 


XI 

GABRIEL  AND  URIEL 

'N  our  second  day  in  Jerusalem,  when 
our  dragoman,  Gabriel  (a  Christian 
Armenian),  took  us  into  a  Turkish 
bazaar,  he  explained  that  the  Turkish 
shopkeepers  were  more  honest  than  the  Latin  Chris- 
tians, the  Greek  Christians,  the  Syrian  Christians,  or 
the  Jews. 

This  rather  surprised  me.  "How  about  the  Arme- 
nians, Gabriel?"  I  asked. 

"They  are  the  most  bad  of  all,"  he  replied. 
While  Gabriel  was  trying  to  persuade  the  indifferent 
Turkish  shopkeeper  to  show  us  his  goods  (Turks  are 
not  "hustlers"),  I  stepped  across  the  street  to  look  at 
some  photographs  in  a  window  there. 

I  was  immediately  beset  by  touts.  I  shook  them  off 
—  all  but  one.  Of  him  anon.  Let  me  preface  my 
experience  with  him  by  some  moral  reflections  on  anger. 
To  begin  with,  never  get  angry  when  travelling.  It  is 
a  grave  error.  Anger  congests  your  cerebral  blood- 
vessels, affects  your  nerves,  gives  you  pipe-stem  arteries, 
and  seriously  interferes  with  your  digestion.  Never 


Gabriel  and  Uriel 

get  angry,  particularly  while  travelling  —  there  are 
plenty  of  things  which  occur  while  travelling  cal- 
culated to  make  you  angry,  but  never  permit  them 
to  do  so. 

But  sometimes  you  may  permit  yourself  to  pretend 
to  be  angry.  In  the  Orient  much  business  is  transacted 
by  means  of  personal  abuse.  For  example,  the  man 
on  horseback  always  abuses  the  man  on  foot;  the  man 
driving  a  carriage  always  abuses  the  pedestrian;  the 
footman  hurls  back  the  abuse  at  the  horseman,  but 
takes  care  to  get  out  of  his  way.  The  policeman  in  the 
Orient  abuses  everybody;  true,  he  frequently  uses  a 
stout  cane  to  chastise,  but  he  rules  the  populace  prin- 
cipally by  abuse.  Therefore,  it  is  often  useful  in 
Oriental  cities  to  indulge  in  loud  and  noisy  talk  in  order 
to  accomplish  whatever  end  you  may  have  in  view.  If 
a  tout  annoys  you  by  his  loud  importunities,  abuse  him 
even  more  loudly.  If  a  dragoman  or  a  boatman  tries 
to  impose  upon  you  and  begins  to  yell,  always  yell  back 
at  him,  and  in  a  louder  yell. 

Jerusalem  is  infested  by  the  most  noisy  and  pestif- 
erous shop-touts  I  ever  saw.  Gangs  of  them  lie  in 
wait  for  the  unfortunate  tourist;  they  pester  him,  they 
dog  his  footsteps,  they  almost  pull  him  into  their  shops. 
This  particularly  persistent  tout  buzzed  about  me  as  I 
was  approaching  his  photograph  shop. 

I  immediately  worked  myself  into  a  furious  rage. 
"What  do  you  mean?"  I  bawled,  "I  was  about  to  go 
into  your  shop,  where  I  would  have  bought  at  least 
twenty  francs'  worth  of  photos,  when  you  get  between 

[184] 


Jerusalem  Shop  Touts 

me  and  the  window,  and  prevent  me  from  seeing  the 
very  views  I  intended  to  purchase." 

In  Oriental  countries  most  people  seemingly  have 
nothing  to  do,  and  a  crowd  speedily  gathered.  The 
proprietor  hastened  out  of  the  shop ;  he  was  alarmed  — 
he  tried  to  pacify  me. 

But  I  would  not  be  pacified.  "What  sort  of  a 
shop  do  you  keep,  anyway?"  I  yelled.  "And  what 
sort  of  shopmen?  I  would  have  bought  fifty  francs' 
worth  of  photos  if  it  were  not  for  this  fellow's  inter- 
ference." 

The  proprietor  again  tried  to  mollify  me.  "  But,  sir," 
said  he  appealingly,  "I  beg  you  to  overlook  it." 

"Overlook  nothing!"  I  replied.  "I  will  not  over- 
look it.  I  will  warn  all  the  other  tourists  in  the  hotel 
to  keep  away  from  your  place,  and  I  will  tell  them  to 
go  to  the  shop  across  the  way."  Here  I  started  osten- 
tatiously for  the  rival  shop. 

The  proprietor  played  his  last  card.  He  pointed  to 
the  crestfallen  tout,  who  stood,  with  almost  tearful 
countenance,  listening  to  my  bitter  indictment. 

"Pardon  the  young  man,  sir,  I  beg  of  you,"  he  said, 
"really,  he  did  not  mean  it.  He  knows  no  better,  sir. 
He  is  not  from  Jerusalem.  He  comes  from  Bethlehem." 


On  our  third  day  in  Jerusalem,  our  dragoman, 
Gabriel,  fell  ill.  I  do  not  wonder  at  it.  How  any  one 
can  stay  well  in  Jerusalem  with  its  awful  filth,  its  me- 


Gabriel  and  Uriel 

phitic  air,  and  its  rainwater  tanks  full  of  the  foulness 
of  ages,  is  to  me  incomprehensible. 

At  all  events,  Gabriel  fell  ill,  and  his  son  dragomanned 
in  his  stead.  Like  his  father,  the  youth  was  named 
Gabriel.  But  in  order  to  avoid  mixing  up  young  and 
old  Gabriel,  I  concluded  to  call  the  youth  "Uriel." 
Lovers  of  " Paradise  Lost"  will  remember  that  Uriel 
slid  down  to  Gabriel  on  a  sunbeam  — "gliding  through 
the  even  swift  as  a  shooting-star."  Milton's  simile 
seems  to  me  a  poetic  way  of  indicating  how  old  Gabriel 
acquired  young  Gabriel  —  much  more  poetic  than  is 
the  old  story  of  the  stork. 

We  found  the  youthful  Uriel  rather  more  interesting 
than  his  father,  for  these  old  dragomans  get  to  be  fright- 
ful bores.  They  are  like  music-boxes  —  when  once 
wound  up  they  have  to  go  through  the  whole  tune  with- 
out missing  a  note.  If  you  stop  the  music-box  by  ask- 
ing a  question,  the  mechanism  clicks,  and  the  dragoman 
goes  back  to  the  beginning  of  the  music-barrel,  and 
gives  it  to  you  all  over  again.  Young  Gabriel,  being 
new  to  his  business,  had  not  learned  his  lessons  thor- 
oughly, and  therefore  could  answer  questions.  Fur- 
thermore, he  was  quite  intelligent,  fairly  educated,  and 
spoke  both  French  and  English  in  a  scholarly  way  — 
that  is,  a  mission- scholarly  way.  I  asked  him  where 
he  learned  his  languages,  and  he  told  us  that  he  had 
been  a  pupil  at  the  Franciscan  monastery.  He  offered 
to  take  us  to  his  alma  mater,  whither  we  went  willingly, 
and  were  repaid  with  a  fine  view  of  Jerusalem  from  the 
flat  roof  of  the  lofty  building. 

[186] 


Franciscan  School  and  Club 

Jerusalem  is  no  longer  confined  within  walls.  As 
we  stood  on  the  roof  of  the  Franciscan  monastery,  and 
surveyed  the  extensive  prospect,  we  could  not  help  but 
note  how  largely  the  ground  covered  with  buildings 
outside  the  walls  exceeded  the  area  within.  In  fact, 
there  has  been  a  building  boom  at  Jerusalem.  This 
has  brought  about  a  vast  deal  of  grading  and  filling 
outside  the  walls,  for  the  country  is  mountainous  and 
abounds  in  deep  gorges.  The  physical  changes  taking 
place  around  Jerusalem  to-day  give  one  an  idea  of  how 
the  ancient  city  has  come  to  be  buried. 

In  reply  to  my  questions,  our  young  friend  Uriel  gave 
me  some  data  about  Jerusalem  and  the  Jerusalem  Jews. 
When  it  came  to  proper  names,  he  very  obligingly  wrote 
them  in  my  note-book.  Unfortunately,  he  put  Jewish 
names  in  Hebrew  characters,  Syrian  names  in  Syriac  — 
in  fact,  each  language  in  its  own  character.  When  I  was 
forced  to  admit  that  I  could  not  read  them,  Uriel  was  sur- 
prised, but  sympathetic.  Between  us,  we  trans-literated 
them  into  English — with  what  success  I  do  not  know. 
Some  of  Uriel's  facts  and  names  are  set  down  elsewhere. 

When  we  had  finished  our  inspection  and  Uriel  had 
finished  his  lecture,  we  descended  from  the  roof  of  the 
Franciscan  monastery  to  view  the  interior. 

Young  Uriel  took  us  all  over  the  establishment,  which 
includes  a  number  of  buildings.  Among  them  there  is 
a  school  conducted  by  the  Christian  Brothers.  Hang- 
ing on  the  wall  are  specimens  of  the  pupils'  handwriting. 
A  glance  at  this  collection  shows  how  curiously  jumbled 
the  nationalities  are.  The  autographs  are  in  Roman, 


Gabriel  and  Uriel 

in  cursive,  in  Arabic,  in  Hebrew,  and  in  other  Oriental 
alphabets. 

With  great  pride,  young  Uriel  took  us  into  the  "  Club- 
Room."  It  seems  that  the  alumni  of  the  institution, 
of  whom  he  was  one,  had  formed  a  club,  and  the  Fran- 
ciscan fathers  had  placed  at  their  disposal  quarters  in 
the  monastery.  Here  they  had  reading  and  writing- 
rooms,  although  I  saw  no  facilities  for  drinking  and 
smoking.  In  their  club-rooms  they  held  assemblies 
at  stated  intervals,  where  papers  were  read,  short  plays 
acted,  and  other  entertainments  given. 

I  complimented  young  Uriel  on  the  up-to-dateness 
of  the  Jerusalem  youth.  "I  belong  to  several  clubs," 
said  I,  with  much  gravity,  "but  I  have  never  seen  one 
exactly  like  this."  This  was  strictly  true. 

Young  Uriel  was  much  gratified  by  my  implied  flat- 
tery, and  replied,  "Yes,  we  are  all  very  pride  of  our 
club,  but  it  has  many  of  the  difficulties." 

"What  are  they,  pray?"  I  inquired  sympathetically. 

"The  principal  difficulty,"  said  young  Uriel  severely, 
"is  that  much  of  the  members  refuse  to  fill  the  offices 
at  the  club,  and  when  they  do  fill  them,  they  refuse  to 
perform  their  performances." 

"I  don't  understand,"  said  I;  "to  perform " 

"To  transact  their  acts,"  added  Uriel  explanatorily; 
"to  make  their  duties." 

"Ah,  yes,"  I  interrupted;  "to  do  their  doings,  you 


mean." 


"  Yes,"  said  Uriel,  "  to  do  their  doings.    Thus  all  the 
work  falls  on  the  government  committee,  and  the  mem- 

[188] 


Monks  as  Typographers 

bers  hold  the  government  responsible  for  everything, 
and  abuse  at  the  government  committee  all  the  times. 
I  appertain  to  the  government  committee,"  added 
young  Uriel,  with  a  pained  air,  "and  we  are  all  very 
much  broken-hearted,  and  we  have  thought  of  resign- 
ing our  functions  so  ungrateful." 

The  good  fathers,  I  learned,  are  exceedingly  sur- 
prised at  these  hitches  in  the  club;  they  think,  that  if 
club-rooms  are  provided,  a  club  should  run  smoothly 
and  automatically.  The  worthy  fathers  are  unworldly 
men,  or  they  would  know  that  incivic  hypercriticism 
is  the  weakness  of  all  clubs. 

The  most  interesting  sights  in  this  monastery  are  the 
workshops,  where  all  sorts  of  crafts  are  followed. 
There  are  workers  in  iron  and  workers  in  wood,  workers 
in  leather  and  grinders  of  grain;  all  sorts  of  primitive 
crafts  are  taught  in  that  primitive  country  —  turning 
the  berry  of  the  wheat  into  flour,  and  making  the  flour 
into  bread;  tanning  hides,  and  making  the  leather  into 
shoes;  weaving  cloth,  and  making  the  cloth  into  gar- 
ments. The  highest  of  the  crafts  here  represented  is 
the  typographic  art  and  kindred  crafts,  for  we  found  a 
large  establishment  here  devoted  to  type-setting,  print- 
ing, engraving,  lithography,  and  bookbinding.  I  in- 
spected the  machinery  with  some  curiosity;  I  found 
that  it  came  from  Germany,  Belgium,  and  Italy  — 
none  from  the  United  States  or  England.  It  did  not 
seem  to  me  to  compare  in  workmanship  and  finish  with 
the  printing  machinery  made  in  Anglo-Saxon  countries. 
In  addition  to  type-setting  and  printing,  there  is  also 


Gabriel  and  Uriel 

a  small  type-foundry  in  operation.  I  talked  with  the 
youths  who  were  being  trained  in  operating  the  type- 
casting machines.  They  knew  nothing  of  the  linotype 
machine.  When  I  described  to  them  this  machine, 
which  casts  a  solid  type-bar  with  letters  on  its  face, 
their  surprise  was  amusing.  They  none  of  them  spoke 
English,  but  all  spoke  French,  and  some  Italian.  It 
was  a  little  difficult  for  me  to  describe  so  complicated 
a  machine  in  a  foreign  language,  but  I  succeeded  in 
describing  something,  for  after  I  had  gone  to  the  other 
end  of  the  long  room  the  type-founders  assembled  in  a 
body,  talked  it  over,  and  sized  me  up.  They  either 
believe  that  the  linotype  is  the  boss  machine  of  the 
twentieth  century,  or  that  I  am  the  boss  liar,  and  I  am 
not  quite  certain  which. 

As  a  souvenir  of  our  visit  we  purchased  one  of  the 
books  printed  by  the  Franciscan  establishment.  It 
is  a  French  guide-book  in  three  volumes,  well  printed 
and  bound.  Its  author  is  one  of  the  reverend  fathers 
belonging  to  the  monastery.  The  book  begins  with  a 
sweeping  retraction  of  anything  the  author  might  have 
said  that  could  be  condemned  by  the  Holy  See.  Trans- 
lated, it  reads  at  follows: 

"  I,  the  undersigned,  hereby  declare  that  I  am  ready  to  retract 
and  to  strike  out  from  my  book  anything  which  may  have  crept 
into  it,  without  my  intention,  that  might  be  contrary  to  the  Chris- 
tian faith  and  to  the  teachings  of  the  Holy  Catholic  and  Apostolic 
Church.  As  I  belong  to  the  great  Franciscan  family,  I  have 
learned  from  its  venerable  Father  the  most  docile  submission  to  the 
Church  of  Rome,  mother  and  mistress  of  all  churches. 

"  FATHER  LIEVIN  DE  HAMME." 

[190] 


Christian  Women  Veiled 

Next  comes  this: 

"  Having  had  this  book  examined  by  two  theologians,  they  have 
permitted  its  publication.  FATHER  AURELIUS  DE  BUJA. 

"  Custodian  of  the  Holy  Land." 

And  the  third  declaration  is  this: 

"  Let  it  be  imprinted.  FATHER  LUDOVICUS. 

"  Patriarcha  Hierosolymitanus." 

The  last  gentleman,  the  Patriarch  of  Jerusalem, 
thus  officially  permits  its  publication.  Otherwise,  it 
would  be  anathema.  And  yet  it  is  only  a  guide-book. 


When  we  left  the  Franciscan  monastery,  and  walked 
down  one  of  Jerusalem's  steep  staircase  streets,  we 
met  a  veiled  Turkish  woman  climbing  up.  I  noticed 
an  apparent  movement  of  recognition  on  the  part  of 
Uriel,  and  the  Turkish  lady's  balloon-like  form  undu- 
lated slightly  all  over,  as  if  she  noted  the  recognition. 

"Come,  come,  Uriel,"  said  I  severely,  "this  will 
never  do.  This  thing  of  flirting  with  Turkish  ladies 
is  strictly  prohibited  by  the  Koran,  Article  Steen,  Sec- 
tions 4,  n,  44.  You  are  young  and  heedless.  I  have 
often  heard  of  foreigners  being  done  to  death  by  the 
indignant  Turkish  husbands  of  lady  Turkesses  at 
whom  foreigners  had  winked.  Much  as  it  would  pain 
me  to  think  of  your  losing  your  young  life,  it  would 
pain  me  more  —  infinitely  more  —  to  think  of  your 
losing  mine.  Prithee  no  more  of  this,  good  Uriel.  If 

[191] 


Gabriel  and  Uriel 

you  are  going  to  mash  any  more  Turkish  ladies,  please 
do  it  when  you  are  not  taking  us  through  Turkish 
towns." 

Uriel  turned,  and  knocked  me  out  with  a  phrase: 
"It  is  my  mother,  sir,"  he  responded  simply. 

I  gazed  at  him  and  gasped.  When  I  had  recovered 
my  breath,  I  cried:  "Your  mother!  How  is  it  that 
you,  a  Christian,  a  student  at  the  Franciscan  monastery, 
should  have  a  Turkish  mother?" 

"My  mother  is  not  Turkish,"  said  Uriel,  with  a  smile; 
"but  many  womans  here,  Christians,  Jewesses,  and 
others,  wear  the  Turkish  dress  in  order  to  avoid  insult. 
Mohammedan  womans  are  respected  of  all.  But 
womans  who  are  not  Mohammedans  are  not  respected 
of  the  Mohammedans.  It  is  not  proper  for  me  to 
recognize  my  mother  in  public,  but  I  could  not  help  a 
slight  motion.  You  will  pardon  me,  will  you  not,  sir?" 

"But  how  can  you  tell  your  mother?  All  these 
women  in  Turkish  dress  look  alike." 

In  truth  they  do.  They  may  be  any  age  from  nine- 
teen to  ninety,  and  they  may  be  beautiful  Circassians 
or  Abyssinian  women  as  black  as  charcoal  —  they  all 
look  alike,  and  they  all  look  like  —  well,  never  mind 
what  they  look  like,  they  all  look  alike. 

"I  cannot  tell,"  replied  Uriel  reflectively.  "I  not 
know  every  woman  that  I  know,  but  I  think  every  man 
he  know  his  mother." 

It  seems  likely,  on  the  whole,  and  I  felt  quite  apol- 
ogetic toward  Uriel  for  having  suspected  him  of  trying 
to  make  eyes  at  his  mother. 

[192] 


XII 
SPOTS    WHERE 


xn 

SPOTS  WHERE 

'NY  traveller  who  yearns  to  gaze  on  spots 
—  sacred  spots  on  the  ground,  legendary 
pools  in  the  ground,  and  historic  holes 
under  the  ground  —  need  not  hesitate 
where  to  go.  Let  him  take  a  ticket  for  Jerusalem.  In 
assorted  spots  — spots  sacred,  spots  profane  —  Jeru- 
salem has  no  rival.  As  the  spot  where  there  are  the 
most  "Spots  Where,"  Jerusalem  is  easily  first. 

Still,  Jerusalem  has  no  monopoly  of  "Spots  Where." 
In  Egypt,  as  well  as  in  Palestine,  there  are  many  "  Spots 
Where."  On  our  first  visit  to  Egypt,  we  were  shown 
the  "Spot  Where"  the  Holy  Family  rested.  On  our 
latest  visit  the  "Spot  Where"  was  under  a  tree  near 
Heliopolis.  Yet  I  remember  perfectly  that  on  our 
previous  visit  the  "Spot  Where"  the  Holy  Family 
rested  was  not  under  a  tree:  that  time  it  was  down  in  a 
dark  hole.  I  always  keenly  remember  dark  holes  — 
I  have  been  led  into  so  many  when  travelling.  To  see 
this  particular  "Spot  Where"  we  had  been  taken  into 
a  deep  hole  —  a  dark  hole  —  a  malodorous  hole  —  a 
hole  so  dark  that  it  required  candles  to  make  the  dark- 


Spots  Where 

ness  visible.  Yet  on  a  second  visit  we  were  shown  the 
authentic  "Spot  Where"  out  in  the  open  under  a  tree. 
Was  my  poor  brain  giving  way?  Had  memory  lost 
her  seat  in  this  distracted  globe  in  consequence  of 
seeing  so  many  "Spots  Where"?  I  was  much  re- 
lieved to  find  that  I  had  remembered  aright.  One 
true  "Spot  Where"  was  at  old  Cairo;  the  other 
true  "Spot  Where"  was  in  another  direction,  near 
the  modern  city,  at  Heliopolis.  There  were  two  true 
"Spots  Where." 

The  inexperienced  sightseer  may  think  that  this  plu- 
rality of  "Spots  Where"  is  due  to  the  rivalry  of  cities. 
But  this  is  not  always  so.  True,  we  may  find  some- 
times several  cities  claiming  a  particular  "  Spot  Where." 
But  sometimes,  even  in  a  single  city,  one  finds  this 
perplexing  plurality  of  pools,  this  embarrassing  rich- 
ness of  "Spots  Where."  It  is  notably  the  case  in 
Jerusalem.  For  example,  I  find  in  my  note-book  these 
memoranda : 

"  The  Tombs  of  David." 

"The  Gardens  of  Gethsemane." 

"The  Pools  of  Siloam." 

These  plurals  may  sound  oddly,  but  to  any  one  who 
has  visited  Jerusalem  there  is  nothing  strange  about 
them.  There  are  several  Tombs  of  David,  several 
Gardens  of  Gethsemane,  and  several  Pools  of  Siloam. 
Each  one  is  genuine,  and  each  is  the  only  one.  I  sup- 
pose there  is  more  than  one  Jacob's  Well,  although  to 
that  I  will  not  swear.  But  if,  as  I  believe,  there  are  sev- 
eral, I  will  swear  that  each  is  claimed  to  be  the  original 


Gordon's  Calvary 

Jacob's  Well.  And  David  is  certainly  buried  in  sev- 
eral places. 

To  some  the  foregoing  may  sound  like  irreverence, 
to  others  like  jesting.  But  it  is  not  irreverence.  It  is 
plain,  sober  truth.  It  is  quite  serious.  It  is  so  serious 
that  much  blood  has  been  spilled  to  determine  the 
genuineness  of  these  "Spots  Where."  Furthermore, 
sincere  and  earnest  Western  Christians  —  not  to  be 
mentioned  in  the  same  breath  with  the  frouzy,  lousy, 
mangy  monks  of  the  Orient  —  have  spent  much  time 
and  money  in  determining  the  identity  and  locality  of 
these  "Spots  Where."  The  famous  Gordon  was  one 
of  these  —  the  ardent  Christian,  the  quixotic  statesman, 
the  gallant  soldier  who  played  so  large  a  r61e  in  Eng- 
land's recent  history,  political  and  military.  Gordon 
discredited  the  spot  revered  as  Calvary  by  the  Greek 
and  Latin  monks  for  many  centuries,  and  the  one 
without  the  walls,  which  he  selected  —  still  known  as 
"Gordon's  Calvary"  —  is  by  many  believed  to  be  the 
genuine  one. 

I  may  pause  here  to  say  to  those  readers  who  are 
shocked  at  shams  unmasked,  if  they  are  "religious" 
shams;  who  wince  at  the  stripping  of  sheep's  clothing 
from  pseudo-sanctimonious  priestly  wolves;  who  de- 
nounce truth- telling  as  "irreverence,"  if  it  be  told  about 
a  sacerdotal  lie;  who  cry  out  in  horror  at  the  sacri- 
legious hand  that  tears  aside  the  veil  shrouding  the  shal- 
low tricks  of  priestly  charlatans,  whether  they  be  Latin, 
Greek,  Armenian,  Jewish,  or  Mohammedan  —  to 
such  readers,  let  me  say,  this  chapter  had  better  remain 


Spots  Where 

unread.  For  it  will  not  try  to  be  irreverent  about 
sacred  places,  but  it  will  attempt  to  tell  the  truth  about 
sacrilegious  shams. 


It  is  not  strange,  considering  how  time  and  war  and 
creeds  have  juggled  with  Jerusalem,  that  there  should 
be  many  "Spots  Where."  Jerusalem  lies  in  layers. 
There  are  Jewish,  Assyrian,  Babylonian,  Roman, 
Mohammedan,  and  Crusader  strata.  The  average 
level  of  the  present  city  is  forty  feet  above  the  average 
level  of  the  ancient  one.  Shafts  have  been  sunk,  which 
in  some  places  have  struck  ancient  pavements  a  hun- 
dred and  twenty  feet  deep.  The  present  colossal  wall 
—  which  impresses  us  modern  Americans  as  looking 
so  ancient  —  is  merely  a  modern  Turkish  wall.  Far 
below  its  foundations  lie  the  gigantic  stones  of  the  elder 
time.  Some  of  these  ancient  foundation-stones  bear 
builders'  marks  in  the  Phoenician  character. 

The  succession  of  the  various  races  is  told  in  these 
stories  of  stone.  All  through  the  Holy  Land  one  sees 
Assyrian  slabs  with  their  curious  bearded  faces;  one 
sees  stones  bearing  Egyptian  hieroglyphics.  In  the 
museum  at  Cairo  are  stones  from  Palestine  with  rough- 
looking  Greek  inscriptions,  utterly  unlike  the  elegant 
Romaic  characters  of  modern  Athens.  Roman  in- 
scriptions are  seen  everywhere  in  the  Holy  Land;  one 
often  sees  slabs  bearing  such  inscriptions  built  into  the 
walls  of  modern  houses. 

While  there  are  some  new  buildings  in  Jerusalem,  I 


1 


Entrance  to  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  Jerusalem 


Chapel  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre 

think  the  pavements  are  Early  Assyrian.  What  might 
be  called  the  Boulevard  of  Jerusalem  is  David  Street; 
it  leads  from  the  Jaffa  Gate  to  the  Temple  entrance, 
running  east  and  west.  Across  it  runs  Christian  Street, 
leading  to  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre.  David 
Street  is  the  dirtiest  and  roughest  street  I  ever  saw  in 
any  city.  It  requires  close  attention  to  one's  feet  in 
walking  over  it  to  avoid  spraining  an  ankle.  The 
streets  of  Jerusalem  are  not  lighted  by  night,  and  every 
one  stays  home  after  dark.  I  don't  wonder  —  walking 
along  David  Street  after  nightfall  would  put  one  in 
danger  of  breaking  a  leg.  Even  the  four-footed  don- 
keys make  their  way  along  it  very  carefully. 

You  turn  off  David  Street  into  Christian  Street,  which 
is  the  quarter  of  Christian  craftsmen,  and  you  turn  off 
this  again  into  a  small  square  in  front  of  the  Church 
of  the  Holy  Sepulchre.  This  is  always  crowded  with 
pedlers  of  rosaries,  crucifixes,  pieces  of  the  True  Cross 
knicknacks  fashioned  out  of  the  cedars  of  Lebanon, 
and  all  sorts  of  sacred  souvenirs.  Around  this  square 
are  Armenian,  Coptic,  and  Greek  chapels.  Just 
inside  the  door  is  a  guard  of  Turkish  soldiery.  On 
holy  days  —  which  are  often  days  of  battle  —  the 
guard  becomes  a  regiment. 

Not  far  from  the  entrance  is  a  stone  to  mark  the 
"Spot  Where"  the  Saviour's  body  is  said  to  have  lain 
in  preparation  for  burial  after  being  anointed.  A  few 
steps  to  the  left  is  the  "Spot  Where"  the  women  stood 
during  the  anointing.  Thence  you  pass  under  the 
great  dome,  in  the  centre  of  which  space  is  the  Chapel 


Spots  Where 

of  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  whose  front  is  decorated  with 
artificial  flowers,  gilt  ornaments,  and  blazing  with 
lamps.  There  are  two  "Spots  Where"  in  this  chapel: 
one  is  the  "Spot  Where"  the  angel  stood  at  the  resur- 
rection, the  other  is  the  "Spot  Where"  the  Nazarene 
was  buried.  Two  holes  on  either  side  of  the  entrance 
are  the  "Spots  Where"  the  "Holy  Fire"  is  sent  from 
heaven  every  Greek  Easter.  On  the  evening  before 
the  "Holy  Fire"  the  church  is  densely  packed  with  the 
faithful,  weeping  as  they  stand,  for  they  are  too  crowded 
to  sit  or  squat.  The  next  morning  the  Turkish  troops 
open  a  narrow  lane  through  the  crowd,  using  heavy 
whips  when  the  faithful  are  slow  in  moving.  Through 
this  lane  the  Greek  patriarch  makes  his  way  to  the 
"Spot  Where"  the  "Holy  Fire"  comes  out  of  the  hole. 
When  the  sacred  moment  arrives  the  torch  is  miracu- 
lously lighted  by  Heaven,  as  it  is  held  in  the  patriarch's 
hands.  This  is  indisputable  —  thousands  of  people 
have  seen  it.  The  torch  is  passed  to  two  priests,  who, 
protected  by  Turkish  soldiers,  make  their  way  through 
the  adoring  crowd,  who  fight  like  fiends  to  light  their 
tapers  at  the  holy  torch. 

In  this  chapel,  cased  in  marble,  is  the  "Spot  Where" 
the  stone  was  rolled  away  by  the  angel  —  in  fact,  a 
piece  of  the  stone  is  still  there.  At  the  west  end  of  the 
chapel,  down  a  low  doorway,  is  the  tomb-chamber  of 
the  Saviour.  This  "Spot  Where"  is  only  six  feet  by 
six. 

At  the  east  of  the  church  you  go  down  some  steps 
to  the  Chapel  of  St.  Helena,  the  lady  who  discovered 

[200] 


Sacrilegious  Shams 

the  "Spot  Where"  Christ  was  buried,  who  founded  the 
church  on  the  "Spot  Where,"  who  also  discovered 
the  "Spot  Where"  Christ  was  born  at  Bethlehem, 
and  the  "Spot  Where"  he  ascended  into  heaven  on 
the  Mount  of  Olives,  at  both  of  which  places  she  built 
churches. 

There  is  another  chapel  farther  underground.  It  is 
so  dark  that  you  must  carry  candles  to  see  it.  In  this 
chapel  —  which  is  called  the  Church  of  the  Finding  of 
the  Cross  —  there  are  three  "Spots  Where":  the  "Spot 
Where"  the  True  Cross  was  found,  and  the  two  "Spots 
Where"  the  crosses  of  the  two  thieves  lay  untouched 
for  several  hundred  years.  The  True  Cross  was  iden- 
tified by  taking  it  to  the  bedside  of  a  noble  lady  who 
was  afflicted  with  chronic  rheumatism;  the  other 
crosses  had  no  effect  whatever,  but  the  True  Cross 
cured  her  at  once. 

Climbing  out  of  these  caverns  you  go  up  some  fifteen 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  main  church  floor,  and  you 
are  on  Mount  Calvary,  where  there  are  three  chapels 
of  different  sects.  There  is  an  opening  set  in  silver  — 
this  shows  the  "Spot  Where"  the  cross  of  Christ  was 
fixed  in  the  rock.  Near  it  is  a  cleft  in  the  rock  set  in 
brass  —  this  is  the  "Spot  Where"  the  rocks  were  rent 
at  the  crucifixion. 

Those  readers  who  may  think  I  am  drawing  the  long 
bov/  are  mistaken.  This  is  only  the  beginning  of  the 
"Spots  Where."  Within  a  very  small  circle  you  are 
shown  the  "Spot  Where"  Abraham  sacrificed  Isaac, 
the  "Spot  Where"  Christ  appeared  to  Mary  Magdalen, 

[201] 


Spots  Where 

the  "Spot  Where"  the  woman  stood  at  the  prepara- 
tion for  the  tomb,  the  "Spot  Where"  the  angel  stood 
at  the  resurrection,  the  "Spot  Where"  Joseph  was 
buried,  the  "Spot  Where"  Christ  was  scourged,  the 
"Spot  Where"  he  was  imprisoned,  the  "Spot  Where" 
his  raiment  was  divided,  the  "Spot  Where"  he  was 
crowned  with  thorns,  the  "Spot  Where"  the  cross  was 
set,  the  "Spot  Where"  the  cross  was  found,  and  the 
"Spot  Where"  Adam  was  buried. 


The  Temple  Enclosure,  with  the  enclosed  spots,  is 
variously  called  Mount  Moriah,  or  the  Dome  of  the 
Rock,  or  the  Mosque  of  Omar,  or  the  Temple  of  Solo- 
mon, or  Harem-esh-Sherif,  according  to  taste  and  fancy. 
It  is  a  level  space  of  ground,  enclosed  by  a  wall  with 
strictly  guarded  gates.  The  open  space  within  this 
enclosure  is  some  thirty-five  acres.  On  entering  this 
large  space  of  ground  one  experiences  a  marked  sensa- 
tion of  relief,  after  pushing  through  the  crowds  in  the 
filthy,  narrow  streets  of  Jerusalem.  The  oddity  of 
this  open  space  in  the  crowded  city  is  added  to  by  its 
physical  contour,  for  while  Jerusalem  is  anything  but 
level,  the  Temple  Enclosure  looks  like  a  parade-ground. 
This  has  been  accomplished  by  cutting  away  rock  in 
some  parts,  filling  in  deep  gorges  in  others,  and  in  still 
deeper  gorges  building  huge  arches  of  masonry,  on  top 
of  which  an  artificial  stone  flooring  has  been  laid.  In 
fact,  the  whole  substructure  of  this  level  enclosure  is 
honeycombed  with  tunnels,  vaults,  and  cisterns.  It  is 

[202] 


Dome  of  the  Rock,  Jerusalem 


Interior  o)  Kubbet  es-Sakhra  and  the  Holy  Rock 


Turkish  and  English  Names 

said  that  at  one  time  over  ten  million  gallons  of  water 
were  stored  in  these  rock  cisterns. 

It  is  only  of  recent  years  that  it  has  been  safe  for 
Christians  to  enter  the  Temple  Enclosure.  Many  an 
unbeliever  has  paid  the  penalty  of  intrusion  with  his 
life.  Even  now  it  is  not  easy  to  enter,  although  Mo- 
hammedan rigor  has  yielded  to  the  golden  key.  But 
there  must  still  be  some  danger  from  Moslem  fanatics, 
for  the  foreign  consulates  will  not  permit  any  of  their 
citizens  or  subjects  to  enter  without  being  attended  by 
the  kavasses,  or  armed  guards,  of  the  consulate.  As 
the  fee  is  not  small,  it  is  customary  for  American,  Eng- 
lish, or  French  travellers  to  make  up  parties  at  their 
consulates,  divide  the  fee,  and  set  forth  together  under 
the  guard  of  the  consular  kavass. 

In  the  centre  of  this  great  open  enclosure  there  is  a 
raised  platform  of  marble,  reached  by  steps.  On  this 
stands  the  Mosque  of  Omar,  as  tourists  call  it,  or 
Harem-esh-Sherif,  as  the  Turks  call  it.  By  the  way,  it 
is  amusing  in  Palestine  to  notice  the  disappointed  air 
with  which  Anglo-Saxon  tourists  receive  the  Turkish 
names  for  streams,  mountains,  towns,  valleys,  and 
tombs,  as  delivered  to  them  by  dragomans  and  ka- 
vasses. In  a  country  where  nearly  all  the  guides  are 
Greek  or  Armenian,  where  most  of  the  inhabitants 
speak  Syriac,  and  where  the  official  language  is  Turkish, 
tourists  seem  to  expect  that  these  Greek  or  Armenian 
guides  should  repeat  to  them  the  ancient  Hebrew  place- 
names  in  the  form  familiar  to  us  as  transliterated  into 
English. 

[203] 


Spots  Where 

The  Mosque  of  Omar,  we  are  told,  is  built  over  the 
top  of  Mount  Moriah.  This  is  the  "Spot  Where" 
Mohammed  is  said  to  have  begun  his  ascent  to  heaven. 
That  Mohammed  was  carried  up  on  this  great  rock 
like  a  chariot  is  unquestionably  true.  It  is  conclusively 
proved  to  the  most  doubting  mind,  because  you  can 
plainly  see  the  finger-marks  of  the  angel  who  steadied 
the  rock-chariot  as  it  started. 

The  Mosque  of  Omar  is  a  very  beautiful  building. 
There  may  be  grander  mosques  in  other  cities,  but  I 
know  of  none  with  such  a  wealth  of  veined  and  vari- 
colored marbles,  of  mosaics  of  colored  and  gilded  glass, 
of  enamelled  tiling,  of  marble  piers  and  arches,  of 
wrought-iron  grills  and  screens.  In  addition  to  all 
these  vitreous,  marmoriferous,  and  metallic  marvels, 
there  is  a  wealth  of  textile  ornament  as  well.  I  do  not 
think  any  modern  Midas  possesses  a  score  of  such  rich, 
such  unique,  such  priceless  rugs  as  we  saw  by  the  hun- 
dred in  this  Mohammedan  mosque  on  the  site  of  Solo- 
mon's Jewish  Temple.  These  rich  carpets  —  rich 
singly,  rich  in  numbers  —  are  so  many  and  so  beautiful 
that  they  almost  bring  tears  to  a  rug-lover's  eyes. 

This  Judo-Mohammedan  site  is  a  kind  of  omnibus 
"Spot  Where."  Here  it  is,  as  I  said,  that  Mohammed 
started  on  his  dirigible  rock-balloon  for  Paradise.  This 
is  the  "Spot  Where"  King  David's  Jebusite  subject 
had  his  thrashing-floor.  This  is  the  "Spot  Where" 
Abraham  offered  up  Isaac.  This  is  the  "Spot  Where" 
stood  the  sacred  altar  of  the  Temple  of  Solomon.  This 
is  the  "Spot  Where"  the  rock  was  anointed  by  Jacob. 

[204] 


Mohammedan  Sacred  Spots 

This  is  also  the  "Spot  Where"  the  Ark  of  the  Covenant 
stood.  This  is  the  "Spot  Where"  was  written  on  the 
rock  the  Unspeakable  Name  of  Jehovah. 

In  addition  to  these  Jewish  "Spots  Where,"  there  are 
a  number  of  Mohammedan  "Spots  Where,"  of  which 
Mohammed's  ascent  is  the  principal  one.  The  Mo- 
hammedans also  show  you  the  "Spot  Where"  David 
and  Solomon  used  to  pray;  likewise  the  "Spot  Where" 
Mohammed  impressed  his  head  on  the  rocky  roof. 
Here  is  the  "Spot  Where"  the  great  rock  —  having 
become  balloon-like  after  its  flight  with  Mohammed  — 
hung  in  the  air  instead  of  resting  on  its  base.  The 
Angel  Gabriel  was  obliged  to  hold  it  down,  and  you  are 
shown  the  "Spot  Where"  his  hand  impressed  it.  Here 
is  a  jasper  slab  —  it  is  the  "Spot  Where"  Mohammed 
drove  nineteen  golden  nails;  one  day  the  devil  stole 
sixteen  of  them;  when  all  are  gone  the  end  of  the  world 
will  come.  The  Angel  Gabriel  caught  and  checked 
the  devil,  and  you  are  shown  the  "Spot  Where"  he 
succeeded  in  holding  back  half  a  nail.  This  slab 
covers  the  "Spot  Where"  Solomon  is  buried.  Here 
also  you  see  the  "Spot  Where"  Mohammed's  foot  was 
imprinted.  But  the  Christian  monks  maintain  that 
this  was  the  "Spot  Where"  Christ  impressed  his  foot. 

Elsewhere  I  have  remarked  that  in  Jerusalem  there 
are  many  strata.  Deep  down,  one  may  find  the  relics 
of  those  which  antedated  the  ancient  Hebrews.  Rising 
up  through  the  rubbish  of  past  eons  we  come  to  the 
superincumbent  or  Quaternary  rubbish  of  Jewry, 
Romanry,  Crusaderism,  Medievalism,  Romanism, 

[205] 


Spots  Where 

and  Mohammedanism.  All  of  these  strata  of  ruins 
and  relics  are  like  the  geologic  strata  that  one  sees  on  a 
crevasse-ruptured  mountain  side.  But  in  addition  to 
these  material  strata  of  rock  and  rubbish  there  are 
psychical  strata  of  lies  —  Jewish  lies,  Roman  lies, 
Crusader  lies,  Romanist  lies,  and  Mohammedan  lies, 
and  the  topmost  or  Mohammedan  strata  are  the  most 
foolish  lies  of  all.  After  you  have  listened  to  the  solemn 
folly  snuffled  to  you  with  grave  faces  by  Greek  or  Ar- 
menian, Latin  or  Maronite  monks,  or  gabbled  to  you 
by  Greek  or  Armenian  guides,  these  lies  seem  like 
scientific  truths  compared  to  the  preposterous  non- 
sense told  you  by  the  Mohammedan  priests  in  the 
Mosque  of  Omar.  As  Prince  Henry  said  to  Poins, 
"These  lies  are  gross  as  a  mountain,  open,  palpable." 
Of  a  truth,  Jerusalem  lies  in  levels  —  lies  in  layers  — 
lies  in  levels  and  layers  of  lies. 


[206] 


XIII 

PIETY:   GENTILE,  JEWISH, 
MOSLEM 


XIII 

I 

PIETY:  GENTILE,  JEWISH,  MOSLEM 

[E  quality  of  Palestine  piety  is  not 
strained.  But,  like  the  Jerusalem  water, 
it  needs  straining  badly.  And  the  most 
pious  stranger  has  his  own  piety  over- 
strained when  contemplating  the  curious  manifestations 
of  the  Palestine  kind  of  piety.  I  know  of  no  place  less 
calculated  to  inculcate  reverence  than  Jerusalem.  A 
religious  man  is  to  be  congratulated  if  he  can  visit  the 
place  without  some  perturbation.  I  hope  I  may  not 
be  accused  of  irreverence  for  my  point  of  view  in  these 
pages.  If  there  is  any  irreverence,  it  is  not  mine,  but 
may  be  laid  at  the  doors  of  the  various  sects  who  make 
merchandise  of  what  they  claim  to  be  holy  places. 

The  abject  superstition,  the  race-hatred,  the  bloody 
ferocity,  the  childish  gullibility  of  the  Jerusalem  Gen- 
tiles, Jews,  and  Moslems  may  not  absolutely  shake  the 
faith  of  a  visiting  believer,  but  he  must  feel  very  un- 
comfortable when  he  reflects  that  he  belongs  to  the 
same  sect.  No  self-respecting  Western  Jew  can  gaze 
upon  some  of  the  Jewish  offal  who  infect  Jerusalem 
without  a  sense  of  shame.  No  trim  Egyptian  soldier 

[209] 


Piety:  Gentile,  Jewish,  Moslem 

can  meet  the  grimy  loafers  who  make  up  Jerusalem's 
Turkish  garrison  without  a  twinge  when  he  thinks  that 
their  common  commander  is  the  Sultan.  And  it  takes 
a  stout  and  stalwart  Christianity  to  stomach  the  mobs 
of  monks,  Greek,  or  Latin,  or  Armenian,  who  bawl 
and  bellow  about  the  streets  where  once  walked  Jesus 
of  Nazareth,  King  of  the  Jews. 

Not  the  least  remarkable  thing  about  this  ancient 
city  —  where  people  have  been  quarrelling  over  re- 
ligion for  four  thousand  years  —  is  that  ardent  prose- 
lytizers  from  modern  cities  are  continually  coming 
hither  to  convert  the  believers  in  these  ancient  faiths. 

On  our  first  day  in  Jerusalem  we  saw,  striding  along 
the  dusty  road  outside  the  David  Gate,  a  tall,  slender, 
handsome  man,  evidently  a  European,  and  looking 
like  an  Anglo-Saxon.  He  had  a  curling  brown  beard, 
long  brown  hair  falling  on  his  shoulders,  and  generally 
rather  a  Nazarene  head.  He  wore  a  brown  Norfolk 
jacket,  a  slouch  hat,  brown  knickerbockers,  and  car- 
ried in  his  hand  a  staff.  Up  to  this  point  his  attire  was 
not  unlike  that  of  many  pedestrian  tourists;  but  below 
the  knees  his  make-up  was  unique,  for  his  legs  and  feet 
were  bare.  The  spectacle  of  this  European,  with  his 
knickerbockers  buttoned  around  his  knees,  below  which 
showed  his  bare  legs  and  feet,  was  certainly  remarkable. 
No  one  seemed  to  know  anything  about  him. 

But  a  day  or  two  afterward  I  had  my  curiosity  satis- 
fied. I  found  I  had  hired  a  pious  dragoman.  I  am 
not  particularly  fond  of  converted  Christians  in  the 
Orient.  My  observation  is  that  of  a  Turk,  a  Greek, 

[210] 


A  Barefooted  Briton 

an  Armenian,  or  a  Jew  dragoman,  the  converted  Chris- 
tian dragoman  will  steal  more  from  you  than  all  the 
others  put  together.  This  particular  dragoman  evi- 
dently took  me  for  a  more  pious  person  than  I  am,  for 
he  rolled  up  his  eyes,  told  me  of  his  acute  Christianity, 
said  that  his  son  had  just  been  converted,  and  generally 
alarmed  me  so  much  that  I  instantly  transferred  my 
wallet  to  an  inside  pocket.  As  we  went  along  we  passed 
the  curious  person  in  knickerbockers,  and  I  asked  the 
dragoman  about  him.  He  replied  that  he  was  an  Eng- 
lishman, and  that  he  was  "a  good  man  devoted  to 
Christian  work." 

We  lost  our  pious  dragoman  at  the  Pools  of  Solomon. 
I  believe  I  lost  him  on  purpose,  but  do  not  now  re- 
member. I  learned  afterward  from  another  source 
that  he  had  told  the  truth  about  the  barefooted  person: 
he  is  an  Englishman  of  some  means,  and  spends  his 
time  and  money  in  Jerusalem  attempting  the  conver- 
sion of  Mohammedans  to  Christianity.  I  wish  him 
joy  of  his  job. 


In  outward  manifestations  at  least,  there  is  a  marked 
difference  between  the  piety  of  Christian  and  Moslem 
dragomans.  Like  driver,  like  dragoman.  When  we 
visited  the  Pools  of  Solomon,  a  number  of  carriages 
had  reached  there  before  us,  and  all  the  tourists  were 
inspecting  those  interesting  cisterns.  As  the  drivers 
and  dragomans  amused  me  more  than  the  cisterns,  I 
stayed  out  in  the  sunlight.  I  have  thus  missed  a  num- 

[211] 


Piety:  Gentile,  Jewish,  Moslem 

ber  of  vaults,  dungeons,  tanks,  and  holes  in  the  ground. 
Our  pious  dragoman  had  temporarily  left  us  —  he  was 
trying  to  inveigle  some  soft-hearted  ladies  into  a  con- 
tribution to  a  Christian  mission  school.  I  watched 
the  movements  of  a  devout  Moslem  near  at  hand,  the 
driver  of  a  carriage  whose  occupants  had  gone  to  in- 
spect the  pools.  He  took  off  his  shoes  —  or  rather 
boots,  for  he  wore  a  pair  of  high  military  boots,  evi- 
dently the  cast-off  foot-gear  of  some  cavalry  officer. 
I  mention  this,  as  it  is  easier  to  kick  off  the  ordinary 
Oriental  slippers  than  it  is  to  pull  off  a  pair  of  cavalry 
boots.  Then  he  took  a  horse-blanket,  spread  it  on  the 
grass  for  a  praying  carpet,  and  began  his  devotions. 
It  took  him  some  time,  probably  fifteen  minutes.  He 
pointed  his  head  toward  Mecca  and  went  through  the 
most  elaborate  genuflections  and  prostrations.  When 
he  had  finished  he  put  on  his  boots  again,  took  up  his 
horse-blanket,  and  returned  to  his  carriage.  This 
pious  Mohammedan,  I  noticed,  was  thoughtful  as  well 
as  pious,  for  he  gave  his  horses  a  feed  while  he  was 
praying. 

It  is  not  at  all  uncommon  to  find  a  shop  shut  up  in  an 
Oriental  city  because  the  shopkeeper  has  "gone  to  the 
mosque  to  pray."  The  strict  attention  of  the  Moham- 
medans to  their  religious  rites  is  unique  among  denomi- 
nations, so  far  as  my  observation  goes.  When  the 
hour  of  prayer  comes,  whether  they  find  themselves  in 
public  or  not,  they  go  through  their  devotions. 

When  returning  from  Solomon's  Pools  we  saw  a 
row  of  workmen  on  the  railway  lining  up  just  as 

[212] 


Workmen  at  Prayer 

the  muezzin's  call  to  prayer  rang  out  from  a  distant 
mosque. 

"Look,"  cried  I.  "There  is  another  instance  of 
Moslems'  devotion  to  their  religious  rites." 

"How  so?"  I  was  asked.  "What  do  you  mean? 
What  are  they  standing  in  a  row  for?" 

"To  pray,"  I  replied  sententiously.  "Don't  you 
see  they  are  facing  toward  Mecca?" 

Now  they  were  all  standing  in  a  row.  As  I  spoke  — 
as  if  at  a  given  signal  —  they  all  went  down. 

"See!"  I  cried.  "They  are  prostrating  themselves. 
In  a  moment  you  will  see  them  begin  to  bow  toward  the 
Sacred  City,  and  go  through  all  the  elaborate  forms  of 
Mohammedan  prayer.  Ah,  is  it  not  interesting  to  see 
a  group  of  ordinary  workmen  interrupt  their  toil  in  the 
middle  of  the  day  and  turn  to  their  religion  ? " 

We  were  all  much  impressed.     I  was  particularly  so. 

But  as  we  gazed  on  them,  with  reflex  religious  in- 
terest, the  row  of  men  arose.  With  a  unanimous  grunt 
they  rose,  bearing  on  their  shoulders  a  long  steel  beam, 
which  they  proceeded  to  walk  away  with  down  the  rail- 
way line. 

An  awkward  silence  followed.  I  imagined  I  heard 
a  faint  snickering,  but  I  affected  not  to  observe  it. 
There  are  moments  when  it  is  just  as  well  not  to  be  too 
observing. 


On  our  visit  to  Solomon's  Pools  our  driver,  who  was 
a  Moslem,  did  not  like  our  pious  dragoman  any  more 


Piety:  Gentile,  Jewish,  Moslem 

than  we  did.  It  was  he  who  advised  losing  him.  But 
his  motives  turned  out  to  be  interested,  for  he  then 
insinuated  that  he  could  fill  the  dragoman's  place  for  a 
small  bakshish.  It  is  rather  unusual  in  Jerusalem 
to  find  a  carriage-driver  who  speaks  any  European 
language.  This  one,  however,  when  he  accosted  us, 
asked  if  we  spoke  French.  He  turned  out  to  be  a  bright 
fellow,  and  quite  amusing  at  times.  I  asked  him  where 
he  learned  to  speak  French;  he  replied  that  he  was 
educated  by  the  French  monks  at  the  Franciscan 
monastery  in  Jerusalem.  He  spoke  no  English,  how- 
ever, saying  that  if  he  did  he  would  be  a  dragoman 
instead  of  a  coachman.  In  the  midst  of  his  conver- 
sation another  carriage  dashed  up  alongside  and 
attempted  to  pass  him.  A  wild  race  ensued,  and  our 
Jehu  finally  left  the  other  far  behind,  after  nearly  caus- 
ing a  spill  by  driving  into  his  horses.  The  occupant 
of  the  other  carriage  was  a  coal-black  negro,  wearing  a 
large  turban.  He  was  driven  by  a  white  man,  who 
favored  our  coachman  with  what  sounded  like  choice 
abuse,  receiving  a  large  quantity  in  return.  I  asked 
our  charioteer  if  he  could  tell  us  the  nationality  of  the 
other  driver;  and,  further,  whether  a  white  man  in 
Palestine  felt  any  humiliation  at  driving  a  negro.  This 
he  did  not  understand,  but  to  the  question  concerning 
the  other  driver's  race,  he  replied,  "He  is  a  Jew."  He 
grew  too  familiar  after  having  been  indulged  for  an 
afternoon,  so  we  did  not  hire  him  again.  It  is  a  weak- 
ness of  many  Oriental  servants- — if  you  permit  it, 
they  at  once  presume  and  grow  too  "fresh"  for  any  use. 


Bottled  Jordan  Water 

This  wild  race  between  a  Jew  and  a  Mohammedan, 
hauling  the  one  a  turbaned  negro,  the  other  two  Western 
tourists,  took  place  on  the  rough  road  between  Jeru- 
salem and  Bethlehem  —  certainly  an  odd  mixture. 

<**> 

There  is  quite  a  large  business  done  in  Jerusalem  in 
the  bottling  of  water  from  the  Jordan.  It  is  sold  in 
flasks  all  over  the  town,  and  pious  people  take  it  home 
to  baptize  their  babies.  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  water 
they  carry  with  them  sometimes  comes  from  the  Jordan; 
but,  considering  the  character  for  veracity  of  the  drago- 
mans and  other  Jerusalem  gentry,  I  doubt  it.  It  is 
easier  to  take  the  water  from  the  Jerusalem  tanks 
instead  of  from  the  Jordan,  and,  as  the  old  song  says, 
"Jordan  is  a  hard  road  to  travel." 

If  it  be  profitable  to  bottle  Jordan  water  for  export  to 
distant  Christian  lands,  what  is  the  matter  with  bottling 
Jerusalem  air?  Nowadays  when  dealers  can  com- 
press air  so  easily  and  use  it  for  commercial  purposes, 
why  not  compress  the  holy  air  of  Jerusalem  and  send 
it  to  the  faithful  at  home?  This  idea  strikes  me  as  a 
valuable  one,  but  I  publish  it  to  the  world  without  price. 
I  am  convinced  that  any  man  taking  it  up  and  working 
it  out  practically  could  make  a  pot  of  money  with  it. 
It  could  be  used  for  moral  disinfection  —  not  sanitary. 
The  only  possible  objection  I  can  see  to  the  scheme  is 
the  hygienic  one.  If  Jerusalem  air,  when  compressed 
and  raised  to  the  ninth  power,  would  smell  nine  times 
as  bad  as  it  does  at  home  on  its  native  heath,  I  am  con- 


Piety:  Gentile,  Jewish,  Moslem 

vinced  that  uncorking  a  bottle  of  Jerusalem  air  in  an 
American  city  would  produce  a  pestilence. 

When  dry,  Jerusalem  is  a  dust-heap;  when  wet,  a 
mud-hole.  It  is  the  filthiest  city  ever  inhabited  by 
white  men.  Since  I  have  visited  it  I  am  not  surprised 
that  the  Creator  once  sent  a  great  flood  upon  the  earth. 
It  is  my  belief  that  the  Deluge  was  intended  to  wash 
Jerusalem  and  make  it  clean.  But  it  was  a  failure. 


As  France  claims  to  be  the  protector  of  Latin  Chris- 
tians in  the  Orient,  so  Russia  claims  to  be  the  protector 
of  the  Greek  Christians.  The  animosity  between  these 
two  sects  is  infinitely  more  bitter  than  that  existing 
between  Christians  and  Jews,  between  Jews  and  Mos- 
lems, between  Moslems  and  Christians.  The  Jews 
are  disliked  by  the  Christians,  and  are  by  them  for- 
bidden to  enter  certain  holy  places;  but  the  Moslems 
are  on  very  amicable  terms  with  the  Jews  and,  naturally, 
being  lords  of  the  soil,  enter  any  church,  synagogue,  or 
temple,  as  they  please.  While  a  Jew  in  a  Jerusalem 
church  would  be  looked  upon  with  aversion  merely,  a 
Greek  priest  in  a  Latin  church,  or  a  Latin  priest  in  a 
Greek  church,  would  often  be  in  danger  of  his  life. 
Turkish  soldiers  are  found  constantly  on  guard  at  the 
Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  in  Jerusalem  and  at  the 
Grotto  of  the  Nativity  in  Bethlehem.  I  have  already 
spoken  of  them  at  the  great  Church  of  the  Sepulchre. 
I  do  not  think  I  shall  ever  forget  the  sight  of  a  knot  of 
Turkish  officers  indolently  lounging  on  a  divan  inside 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


Tower  o}  Antonia,  Jerusalem 


Greek  and  Latin  Battles 

the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  talking,  laughing, 
smoking;  this  group  was  made  up  of  the  chief  officers 
of  a  strong  force  of  Turkish  troops  which,  under  the 
charge  of  the  subalterns,  was  posted  at  every  point  in 
the  enormous  church  where  outbreaks  might  occur 
between  the  mobs  of  fanatic  monks. 

Russia  and  France  were  led  into  the  Crimean  War 
by  a  quarrel  between  Greek  and  Latin  Christians,  each 
claiming  possession  of  the  Church  of  the  Nativity.  At 
another  time  a  battle  arose  between  Latin  and  Greek 
Christians  over  the  Virgin's  tomb  in  the  Valley  of  the 
Khedron.  In  this  struggle  the  Turkish  soldiers  sided 
with  the  Greeks,  and  forcibly  removed  the  Franciscans. 
A  recent  outbreak  (February,  1905),  was  also  on  Greek 
and  Latin  lines.  As  Russia  for  years  has  been  pushing 
her  way  in  the  Holy  Land,  the  Greek  Christians,  en- 
couraged by  her  attitude,  are  becoming  very  aggressive. 
For  many  centuries  the  Franciscan  monks  (of  the  Latin 
Christians)  have  swept  the  outside  steps  of  the  Church 
of  the  Holy  Sepulchre;  they  thus  symbolize  their  pos- 
session of  the  building.  The  Greeks  determined  to 
take  away  the  privilege  from  the  Franciscans,  and  thus 
destroy  all  their  vested  rights.  They  attacked  the 
Franciscan  monks  in  force,  with  stones  and  clubs.  A 
bloody  battle  took  place,  in  which  many  of  the  Fran- 
ciscan monks  were  severely  injured,  and  in  some  cases 
their  lives  were  despaired  of.  The  Greeks  were  upheld 
in  this  high-handed  proceeding  by  the  Russian  Govern- 
ment. 

In  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre  four  monastic 


Piety:  Gentile,  Jewish,  Moslem 

communities  are  domiciled:  the  Roman  Catholic  monks 
(Franciscan)  have  their  convent  and  chapel  to  the 
north  of  the  tomb;  the  Greek  Catholics  to  the  east;  the 
Armenian  Catholics  to  the  south,  in  the  gallery;  and 
the  Coptic  Catholics  have  some  small  chambers  to  the 
west.  Of  these  monks,  the  Father  Superiors  of  the 
Greeks,  the  Franciscans,  and  the  Armenians  only  have 
the  "right"  to  demand  of  the  Mohammedan  door- 
porters  the  opening  of  the  church,  whether  to  celebrate 
their  respective  religious  festivals,  or  for  other  purposes. 
This  right,  however,  is  not  granted  unless  the  Turkish 
keepers  receive  agreed  payments,  based  on  the  time  the 
doors  remain  open.  As  at  all  other  times  the  doors 
remain  locked,  with  the  Turkish  officials  in  possession 
of  the  keys,  it  follows  that  the  Christian  monks  within 
are  practically  prisoners.  However,  they  are  permitted 
to  hold  communication  with  the  outer  world  by  means 
of  grills  or  wickets  in  the  great  door;  thus  through 
Turkish  mediums  they  receive  their  daily  bread  and 
other  necessaries  of  life. 

I  can  chronicle  only  a  church  duel  instead  of  a  reli- 
gious war.  One  day,  while  we  were  in  the  chief  Ar- 
menian church,  a  violent  row  broke  out  between  two 
men.  I  approached,  and  found  that  the  combatants 
were  a  Jewish  dragoman  and  an  Armenian  priest. 
They  did  not  exactly  come  to  blows;  true,  they  clutched 
at  one  another's  clothing,  but  they  did  not  strike.  In 
the  Orient  I  have  rarely  seen  blows  exchanged:  I  have 
often  seen  them  given  by  superior  to  inferior,  and  then 
generally  with  a  stick.  Many  times  I  have  seen  Orien- 


A  Jerusalem  Vignette 

tals  bitterly  wrangling,  even  going  so  far  as  to  clinch, 
but  they  usually  "break  away"  without  exchanging 
blows.  In  this  Armenian  church  row  I  approached 
with  the  keenest  interest  —  I  thought  it  must  surely 
be  a  religious  rumpus,  the  cause  dating  back  something 
like  a  thousand  years.  Fancy  my  deep  disappointment 
when  it  turned  out  to  be  a  quarrel  over  one  piastre.  It 
seems  that  the  priest  found  his  share  of  the  tourists' 
bakshish  was  one  piastre  short,  and  he  accused  the 
dragoman  of  sequestrating  that  sum.  This  the  drago- 
man repudiated  with  indignation;  the  dispute  became 
envenomed,  hence  the  noisy  row.  The  Armenian 
priest,  his  black  eyes  blazing,  his  face  framed  in  coal- 
black  beard  and  hair,  was  pale  with  anger;  the  Jewish 
dragoman  was  red  with  rage.  Their  clamor  rang 
through  the  great  arches,  the  groined  roof  of  the  gloomy 
church. 

But  what  a  disappointment!  I  thought  it  was  at 
least  a  fight  over  sacred  places  and  sacrilege,  a  row  over 
the  filioque,  or  some  genuine  "Spot  Where."  Alas! 
It  was  only  a  money  fight  —  a  tuppenny-ha'penny 
quarrel  —  a  row  over  five  cents ! 


In  every  place  where  I  have  ever  been,  some  one  pic- 
ture has  always  remained  imbedded  in  my  mind.  It 
may  have  been  incongruous,  sometimes  ludicrous,  some- 
times childish.  But  that  matters  not  —  the  picture 
always  remained.  Whenever  I  thought  of  that  particu- 
lar place,  there  rose  up  before  me  its  particular  picture. 


Piety:  Gentile,  Jewish,  Moslem 

What  is  my  Jerusalem  picture?  You  could  not 
guess.  Is  it  of  the  ancient  Hebrews?  No.  Of  the 
Romans  besieging  Jerusalem?  No.  Of  the  Cru- 
saders, of  Saint  Louis,  of  Richard,  of  Saladin,  of 
Godfrey?  No.  Of  the  modern  rabble  of  Christians, 
Jews,  and  Turks  who  fill  the  filthy  streets  of  the  ancient 
town  ?  No. 

What  is  it  then?  you  ask.  It  is  this  —  here  is  the 
picture  which  rises  before  me  when  I  think  of  Jeru- 
salem: A  long  and  lofty  salon  in  a  Levantine  hotel, 
furnished  in  rococo  style,  with  gilded  mouldings,  with 
many  mirrors,  with  many  chandeliers  filled  with  petro- 
leum lamps;  a  table  in  the  centre,  at  which  are  seated 
three  people  playing  cards  —  two  of  them  rosy,  fresh- 
faced  English  girls,  in  low-cut  gowns;  the  third  a  young 
man,  an  English  curate,  in  the  straight-cut  coat  and 
white  stock  affected  by  gentlemen  of  his  cloth;  the 
curate  is  smoking  a  short  black  brier  pipe.  Lying  on 
a  horse-hair  sofa  near  them  is  a  stout,  red-faced  gentle- 
man, wrapped  in  sound  and  stertorous  slumber;  he  also 
is  in  clerical  garb,  with  the  addition  of  gaiters;  he  is  a 
dean,  and  I  learn  later  that  the  two  florid  girls  are  his 
daughters.  At  the  other  end  of  the  long  salon  is  a 
group  of  Americans  gazing  on  this  scene  with  horror. 

That  is  my  picture.  And  I  think  almost  any  one 
will  admit  that  a  curate  playing  cards  with  a  dean's 
daughters  in  a  Jerusalem  drawing-room,  and  smoking 
a  brier  pipe  the  while,  is  odd  enough  to  be  remembered. 


[220] 


XIV 

DISAPPOINTMENTS  IN  PALESTINE 


XIV 

DISAPPOINTMENTS  IN  PALESTINE 

>OST  travellers,  as  they  sail  from  the 
western  Mediterranean  toward  the  Le- 
vant, become  apprehensive  of  quaran- 
tine. Many  who  do  not  fear  cholera  or 
plague  fear  quarantine,  and  with  reason.  In  travel- 
ling, it  is  very  difficult  to  get  truthful  news  about  the 
prevalence  of  infectious  disease.  The  people  in  the 
infected  places  are  interested  in  suppressing  the  news; 
the  people  in  other  places  have  all  manner  of  motives 
for  directing  passengers  in  various  directions  and  by 
various  routes;  it  is  thus  almost  impossible  to  get  at  the 
truth. 

While  in  the  quarantine  zone  I  was  much  interested 
in  observing  the  attitude  of  travellers  toward  the  va- 
rious newspapers;  the  only  journal  in  which  they  seemed 
to  repose  implicit  faith  was  the  London  Times.  Even 
French,  Italian,  German,  and  Austrian  tourists  looked 
with  suspicion  on  Austrian,  German,  Italian,  and 
French  newspapers;  they  might  read  them  for  home 
news,  for  political  gossip,  and  that  sort  of  thing;  but 
when  they  wanted  to  get  at  the  truth  about  quarantine 
they  read  the  London  Times. 


Disappointments  in  Palestine 

When  you  are  bound  for  the  Holy  Land  from  a  dis- 
tance of  thousands  of  miles,  Palestine  seems  a  micro- 
scopic spot.  At  first  you  ask,  "Is  there  any  disease 
now  in  Palestine?"  Or,  "Are  Western  ports  quaran- 
tining Palestine  ports?"  But  as  you  approach  the 
Holy  Land,  Palestine  becomes  more  than  a  spot  — 
near  at  hand  it  is  a  microcosm.  You  not  only  find  that 
there  may  be  epidemic  disease  there,  and  quarantine, 
but  that  the  different  spotlets  of  the  spot  quarantine 
against  each  other.  Jerusalem  declares  a  quarantine 
against  Damascus,  Damascus  against  Smyrna,  Jeru- 
salem against  Gaza,  Jerusalem  against  Lydda,  Jeru- 
salem against  Hebron;  last  year  Hebron  actually 
declared  a  quarantine  against  the  surrounding  villages 
and  maintained  a  cordon  about  itself  reaching  to  the 
Pools  of  Solomon. 

That  Jerusalem  should  quarantine  against  Alexan- 
dria, or  Alexandria  against  Smyrna,  may  not  seem 
peculiar;  but  for  one  small  town  in  Palestine  to  quaran- 
tine against  all  the  little  hamlets  around  it  seems  rather 
absurd. 


In  sailing  along  the  Syrian  coast,  one  is  continually 
struck  by  the  wealth  of  color.  First  comes  the  tawny 
sea-beach,  then  the  white  buildings  with  their  red  roofs, 
the  copper  domes,  and  the  occasional  minarets,  all  set 
in  groves  of  green.  Behind  these  rise  the  first  ranges 
of  hills,  of  a  warm  reddish  color;  back  of  these  the  hills 
grow  brown;  back  of  them  again  they  melt  into  gray, 

[224] 


Filthy  Towns 

and  then  in  the  distance  amethyst  mountain  ranges  are 
outlined  *on  the  brilliantly  blue  Syrian  sky.  Sailing 
along  the  Syrian  coast  the  land  looks  incredibly  beauti- 
ful, but  beware  of  landing.  When  you  land,  all  beauty 
disappears.  The  towns  which,  seen  from  the  sea,  are 
white  and  beautiful,  seen  ashore  are  filthy  and  squalid. 
The  houses  are  a  patchwork  of  all  ages  and  of  all  styles 
of  architecture  —  ruined  walls  of  massive  masonry  with 
sheds  and  hovels  of  refuse  boards  and  sheet  tin  leaning 
up  against  the  ancient  buildings.  The  narrow  streets 
are  crowded  with  surly  men,  shapeless  women,  and 
shrill  children;  through  this  mass  of  humanity  burdened 
donkeys  push  their  way.  The  shopkeepers  sit  in  their 
little  shops,  about  six  by  six  in  size,  and  conduct  loud 
conversations  with  their  fellow  shopkeepers  up  and 
down  the  street  and  across  the  way. 

It  is  amazing  how  human  beings  can  breed  in  these 
filthy  towns  —  or  I  should  say  survive,  for  the  human 
race  can  breed  anywhere.  Probably  the  explanation 
is  an  old  one  —  the  country  feeds  as  well  as  breeds  the 
towns.  In  his  remarkable  booklet,  "The  Town- 
Dweller,"  Dr.  J.  Minor  Fothergill  —  that  brilliant 
physician  who  died  untimely  —  apparently  proved 
that  there  is  no  fourth  generation  of  Londoners.  In 
the  third  generation,  he  says,  the  pure  town-bred  Lon- 
doner ceases  to  propagate.  It  is  the  red-faced  rustics 
impelled  thither,  lured  by  the  lights  of  London  town, 
who  renew  the  blood-stream  of  the  gigantic  city. 

So  it  is  in  Syria  —  the  town  dwellers  soon  die  out; 
but  they  are  recruited  by  intermarriages  with  Cretans, 

[225] 


Disappointments  in  Palestine 

Cypriotes,  Hellenes  and  other  Levantines,  with  Kurds, 
Circassians,  Persians,  and  Africans.  In  fact,  there  is 
a  distinct  race  in  such  towns  as  Smv/rna,  which  race  is 
of  the  Hellenic  type.  The  Smyrniotes  are  continually 
recruited  from  the  islands  of  the  Grecian  Archipelago. 


That  travellers  in  a  foreign  land  often  overrate  its 
merits,  from  the  days  of  Marco  Polo  down  to  our  own, 
is  plainly  proved  by  Palestine.  For  something  like 
four  thousand  years  both  travellers  and  natives  have 
been  lying  about  it.  Most  of  us  have  based  our  views 
of  Palestine  on  the  bragging  of  the  natives  in  the  old 
Biblical  times.  It  is  hard  to  fit  these  tales  to  the  mod- 
ern Palestine,  making  every  allowance  for  centuries 
of  Turkish  misrule.  It  is  impossible  to  believe  that 
this  could  ever  have  been  a  land  flowing  with  milk  and 
honey.  How  the  natives  of  any  era  could  believe  their 
own  bragging  about  Palestine  it  is  difficult  to  under- 
stand. Probably  the  hypothesis  of  some  Oriental 
traveller  is  the  correct  one,  which  is  that  Syria  seems  a 
paradise  to  the  wayfarer  coming  from  the  desert.  That 
explains  it.  "In  the  kingdom  of  the  blind,"  says  the 
old  proverb,  "the  one-eyed  man  is  king."  And  so  to 
the  Bedouin  and  to  the  thirst-stricken  traveller  coming 
from  the  desert  which  bounds  Syria  on  the  east,  it  must 
indeed  seem  like  a  garden  of  Eden. 

Correspondingly,  much  of  Palestine  to  the  desert 
wayfarer  must  seem  like  an  oasis.  To  the  dwellers  in 

[226] 


Subterranean  Streams 

the  Far  West  of  America,  a  simple  parallel  may  be 
found.  When  you  cross  the  vast  stretches  of  alkali 
desert  in  Nevada,  Utah,  or  Arizona,  and  reach  a  garden 
spot  like  Humboldt  or  Indio,  where  the  thirsty  earth 
has  drunk  up  water  piped  from  the  distant  hills,  and 
thus  refreshed  has  brought  forth  palm  trees  and  flowers, 
how  inexpressibly  grateful  are  these  green  oases  to  the 
traveller's  tired  eye.  So  to  the  Bedouin,  who  is  born 
and  lives  and  dies  in  the  desert,  all  Palestine  is  a  gigantic 
oasis. 

To  a  dweller  in  arid  America  the  parched  and  baked 
appearance  of  the  surface  in  Palestine  does  not  seem 
strange.  It  may  seem  so  to  the  pilgrims  from  moist 
lands  like  those  of  Northern  Europe,  where  it  rains  all 
of  the  summer,  and  nearly  all  of  the  winter  when  it 
isn't  snowing.  But  what  strikes  even  a  dweller  in  arid 
America  is  the  aqueous  topsy-turvydom  in  Palestine. 
There  is  apparently  little  subsoil  water  in  the  arid 
regions  of  Western  America.  There  are  a  few  shallow 
artesian  reservoirs.  What  shallow  ones  exist  are  easily 
tapped  and  drained  by  too  many  wells,  and  about  the 
only  source  of  supply  is  in  the  streams  fed  by  the  melt- 
ing snows  in  the  mountains,  which  streams,  for  the 
most  part,  flow  uselessly  to  the  sea.  But  in  Palestine, 
while  there  is  apparently  little  or  no  water  on  top  of  the 
ground,  there  is  a  great  deal  of  it  immediately  under 
the  surface.  There  are  subterranean  springs  and 
streamlets  filtering  everywhere  through  the  solid  rock. 
The  people  say  they  can  detect  the  presence  of  water 
by  putting  their  ears  to  the  ground.  They  aver  that 
[227] 


Disappointments  in  Palestine 

they  can  hear  the  murmur  of  water  from  the  rocky 
depths  below. 

The  existence  of  natural  subterranean  streams  seems 
to  have  given  the  natives  a  belief  that  artificial  water- 
courses should  also  be  subterranean.  There  is  an 
ancient  underground  aqueduct  which  supplies  Jeru- 
salem with  water,  and  which  is  fed  by  the  Pools  of 
Solomon.  This  aqueduct,  which  became  choked  up 
in  the  course  of  ages,  has  been  cleaned  out  and  again 
put  in  use.  It  is  sadly  needed.  Jerusalem  is  a  city 
without  water.  Its  principal  supply  is  from  rain-water 
cisterns.  Not  only  is  water  needed  for  drinking,  but, 
if  an  adequate  water  supply  were  brought  to  the  city, 
it  is  not  impossible  that  the  inhabitants  might  wash 
and  be  clean.  The  most  pious  pilgrim,  the  most  ardent 
palmer  who  worships  at  the  holy  city's  shrines,  will 
admit  that  they  need  it. 

The  many  musical  references  in  Holy  Writ  to  springs 
and  fountains  arouse  one's  expectation  in  this  thirsty 
land.  Involuntarily  you  quicken  your  pace  as  you 
approach  a  well,  or  spring,  or  fountain.  But  there 
is  nothing  attractive  about  such  places  in  Palestine. 
The  women  wash  garments  at  the  drinking-places  till 
the  waters  are  foul  with  filth;  the  men  wash  horses  in 
them;  and  all  classes  seem  to  drink  freely  of  this  foul 
water,  and  wonder  at  the  squeamishness  of  the  Euro- 
pean. ^ 

When  one  thinks  of  the  great  events  that  have  taken 
place  in  the  Holy  Land,  the  multitude  of  cities,  villages, 


Holy  Land  Very  Small 

and  towns,  the  countless  millions  who  have  been  born 
there  and  whose  bones  now  lie  in  its  rock-ribbed  hills, 
the  small  dimensions  of  Palestine  are  almost  startling. 
West  of  the  Jordan,  where  most  of  the  historic  events 
took  place,  there  are  only  3,800  square  miles,  including 
all  of  the  geographical  divisions  now  called  Palestine; 
including  the  land  both  east  and  west  of  the  Jordan, 
the  total  area  is  9,840  square  miles.  The  length  of 
Palestine  from  north  to  south  is  about  150  miles.  It 
varies  in  breadth  from  23  to  80  miles. 

Perhaps  the  best  way  to  realize  its  smallness  is  to 
compare  it  with  other  geographical  divisions.  Com- 
pared with  European  countries  it  is  about  one  sixth  the 
size  of  England  (58,168  square  miles);  a  little  less  than 
two  thirds  the  size  of  Switzerland  (15,992  square  miles); 
a  little  more  than  one  third  the  size  of  Greece  (25,014 
square  miles);  less  than  two  thirds  the  size  of  Denmark 
(15,289  square  miles). 

Coming  to  the  western  hemisphere,  it  is  a  little  more 
than  one  third  the  size  of  Costa  Rica  (23,233  square 
miles);  a  little  more  than  one  half  the  size  of  Santo 
Domingo  (18,045  square  miles) ;  and  about  one  eightieth 
the  size  of  Mexico  (747,900  square  miles). 

The  term  "city"  as  used  in  the  Bible,  when  applied 
to  the  ridiculous  little  villages  that  one  finds  in  Palestine 
to-day,  shows  what  extreme  importance  an  aggrega- 
tion of  houses  has  to  the  tent-dweller.  To  a  Zulu 
doubtless  Capetown  seems  like  a  great  city;  to  a  Lon- 
doner it  seems  like  a  village.  But  everything  is  relative. 
Three  thousand  years  ago,  when  nomadic  Hebrews 
[229] 


Disappointments  in  Palestine 

approached  a  little  village  on  the  hither  side  of  the 
Jordan,  no  doubt  they  were  awe-stricken,  called  it  a 
city,  and  dubbed  its  constable  or  pound-keeper  a  king. 
To-day  in  Montenegro  Prince  Nikita  is  looked  upon 
with  awe  by  his  simple  subjects  —  they  believe  him  not 
only  royal,  but  almost  a  demi-god.  Yet  his  capital  city 
is  smaller  than  a  tenth-rate  provincial  town,  and  his 
"palace"  is  inferior  to  the  average  suburban  villa. 

The  villages  in  the  Holy  Land  are  all  dingy  and  dust- 
colored.  Many  are  on  the  tops  of  hills,  and  look  like 
fortified  places.  All  have  flat  roofs,  and  some  are  sur- 
rounded with  olive  orchards  and  cactus  hedges.  At  a 
distance  they  are  not  unattractive.  But  as  you  ap- 
proach and  enter  them  they  become  more  and  more 
repulsive.  All  sorts  of  filth  may  be  found  in  the  streets. 
Dirty  and  diseased  children  swarm  everywhere,  while 
ragged  mothers  gaze  idly  at  them,  squatting  on  their 
door-steps.  Some  of  the  houses  are  built  of  stones 
taken  from  ancient  ruins,  but  most  of  them  are  con- 
structed of  dried  mud.  As  there  are  no  trees  and  hence 
no  wood  in  Palestine,  the  fuel  is  dried  dung,  and  its 
acrid  smell  everywhere  fills  the  air.  There  is  little 
furniture  in  the  houses,  a  bed  and  some  water-jugs 
being  about  all.  In  some  houses  the  floor  is  on  two 
levels  —  one  half  being  several  feet  higher  than  the 
other.  On  the  upper  level  the  family  live,  and  on  the 
lower  the  beasts.  The  people  who  live  in  these  houses 
are  said  by  ethnologic  authorities  to  be  distinct  from 
the  Bedouin  Arabs  and  from  the  Turks.  They  are 
believed  to  be  descendants  of  the  Canaanites,  and 

[230] 


Natives  around  the  Zion  Gate,  Jerusalem 


Force  of  Tradition 

philologists  say  that  they  remain  as  they  were  when 
they  talked  with  Jesus  in  Aramaic  —  which  language, 
by  the  way,  He  is  said  to  have  used  most. 

There  are  only  about  a  dozen  towns  in  Palestine 
(that  is,  excluding  the  cities  of  Jerusalem,  Damascus, 
and  Beirut)  with  more  than  three  thousand  population. 
Some  with  the  most  sacred  associations  seem  to-day  to 
be  the  most  insignificant.  Bethlehem  is  particularly 
disappointing.  It  looks  impressive  from  afar,  but,  as 
you  approach,  it  loses  its  picturesque  appearance,  and 
to  dash  your  anticipations  still  more,  you  find  a  number 
of  staring  new  buildings  there.  Bethlehem,  like  Jeru- 
salem, seems  to  have  a  boom. 

I  have  often  been  struck  by  the  force  of  tradition. 
In  countries  whose  beginnings  antedate  history,  the 
modern  dwellers  often  resort  to  certain  places  and  per- 
form certain  acts  without  knowing  why.  Thus,  for 
example,  in  Roman  Catholic  Italy  to-day  the  peasants 
regularly  go  to  the  sites  of  ancient  pagan  temples  to 
indulge  in  merrymakings  at  certain  seasons  of  the  year 
contemporaneous  with  pagan  festivals  in  honor  of 
Venus,  of  Jupiter,  or  of  Apollo.  The  populace  of 
modern  Rome  go  forth  every  year  about  Easter  time 
to  a  point  on  the  Campagna  where  there  once  was  a 
temple  to  Venus;  now  there  remains  scarcely  one  stone 
standing  on  another.  Here  they  have  rural  sports, 
diversified  with  eating  and  drinking.  They  call  the 
occasion  "The  Festival  of  the  Divine  Love"  —  which 
has  a  semi-religious  sound.  It  is  really  a  survi- 
val of  a  festival  in  honor  of  Venus,  which  was 


Disappointments  in  Palestine 

celebrated  two  thousand  years  ago  by  the  Plebs  of 
ancient  Rome. 

So  in  Palestine  there  stands  upon  the  plain  of  Jeri- 
cho a  wretched  village  called  Eriha.  It  stands  near  the 
site,  according  to  tradition,  of  the  City  of  Sodom.  It 
is  a  foul  and  filthy  collection  of  hovels,  and  is  of  no 
interest  whatever,  unless  it  be  for  the  fact  that  the 
morals  of  the  villagers  are  as  filthy  and  as  foul  as  are 
their  hovels.  What  seems  unusual  is  that  the  women 
are  more  immoral  than  the  men  —  things  have  got 
mixed  since  Sodom  sinned  and  fell.  How  strange  that 
of  the  Cities  of  the  Plain,  destroyed  so  many  centuries 
ago,  nothing  should  remain  but  their  lewd  living. 


The  views  of  the  Valley  of  the  Jordan  and  of  the  basin 
in  which  lies  the  Dead  Sea  are  very  striking.  Looking 
to  the  eastward  from  elevated  points  near  Jerusalem, 
the  Dead  Sea  seems  about  half  a  mile  away.  Yet  it  is 
nearly  four  thousand  feet  lower  than  Jerusalem,  and 
many  hours'  travel  distant.  These  inland  salt  seas  are 
all  very  remarkable.  Many  Americans  have  noticed 
the  extraordinary  characteristics  of  the  Great  Salt  Lake, 
particularly  when  trying  to  swim  in  its  waters.  The 
Dead  Sea  has  the  same  tendency  to  bring  the  bather's 
feet  to  the  surface.  There  are  no  fishes  in  the  Dead 
Sea  —  no  life  of  any  kind.  The  percentage  of  solids 
in  the  water  is  enormous  —  about  twenty-six  per  cent. 
The  principal  solid  ingredients  are  the  chlorides  of 
sodium,  magnesium,  and  calcium. 


Many  Sects  of  Catholics 

The  deepest  part  of  the  Dead  Sea's  bed  lies  2,600 
feet  below  the  level  of  the  Mediterranean;  its  depth 
here  is  1,310  feet.  Jerusalem  lies  3,780  feet  above  the 
Dead  Sea.  Oddly  enough,  it  has  a  cloud  system  of  its 
own,  for  one  may  frequently  see  cloud-banks  lying  over 
the  Dead  Sea,  which  are  six  or  seven  hundred  feet  below 
the  level  of  the  ocean. 

The  Valley  of  the  Jordan  is  in  modern  times  but 
scantily  peopled.  The  heat  there  is  unbearable,  the 
malaria  mortal.  In  fact,  a  residence  in  the  Valley  of 
the  Jordan  is  calculated  to  take  a  good  Christian  who 
covets  eternity  more  rapidly  into  the  other  world  than 
almost  any  other  spot  in  the  Holy  Land,  and  there  are 
a  great  many  places  in  the  Holy  Land  better  fitted  for 
holy  dying  than  for  holy  living. 


Of  all  the  disappointments  of  Palestine,  probably 
the  most  disappointing  is  the  religious  question.  Most 
of  us  imagine  that  in  the  Holy  Land  the  Christians  are 
a  united  band,  leagued  against  the  followers  of  Ma- 
hound.  Error — gigantic,  colossal,  stupendous  error. 
The  Mohammedans  are  united,  but  the  Christians  are 
rent  and  torn.  They  quarrel  bitterly;  they  hate  each 
other  for  the  love  of  God;  they  often  push  their  fanatic 
hatred  to  the  extreme  of  murder.  And  the  Turkish 
Government  watches  them  carefully  to  prevent  their 
cutting  each  other's  throats. 

The  Christians  are  divided  into  many  sects.  The 
"Orthodox  Greeks"  are  the  most  numerous.  They 

[233] 


Disappointments  in  Palestine 

are  in  two  Patriarchates,  under  the  Patriarch  of  Jeru- 
salem and  the  Patriarch  of  Beirut.  These  Greek 
Catholics  venomously  hate  the  "Latins,"  or  Roman 
Catholics. 

The  "Latins"  are  affiliated  with  the  Papal  Church 
of  Rome,  although  some  of  the  sects  do  not  recognize 
all  the  Papal  dogmas.  The  Oriental  Catholic  Churches 
affiliated  with  the  "Latin,"  or  Roman  Catholic,  are 
the  "Coptic  Catholic,"  the  "Armenian  Catholic,"  the 
"United  Nestorians,"  the  "United  Syrians,"  the 
"United  Greeks." 

Some  of  these  Oriental  Catholic  Churches  depart 
from  the  Roman  ritual  and  defy  certain  of  its  ordi- 
nances. Many  of  them  celebrate  the  mass  in  Arabic, 
and  most  of  them  permit  married  men  to  be  priests. 
This  the  Roman  See  winks  at.  All  of  these  Catholics 
have  Patriarchs  of  their  own  —  at  Damascus,  at  Aleppo, 
at  Constantinople,  at  Mossul  —  and  they  seem  to  re- 
gard their  Pontiffs  as  of  equal  dignity  with  the  Pontiff 
of  the  Roman  Church. 

The  Maronite  Catholics  are  also  affiliated  with  the 
Roman  Catholics.  Their  Patriarch  is  elected  by  their 
bishops,  subject  to  the  approval  of  the  Pope  of  Rome. 
But  they  demand  the  right  of  their  priests  to  marry, 
and  assert  their  right  to  read  the  mass  in  Syrian. 

The  discordant  Christian  sects  of  the  East  hate  each 
other  so  bitterly  that  they  have  little  hatred  left  for  the 
Mohammedans,  with  whom  both  Greeks  and  Latins 
are  on  better  terms  than  with  each  other.  As  for  the 
Protestants:  the  Latin  and  Greek  Catholics  rarely 

[234] 


Protestants  not  "Christians" 

speak  of  them  as  Christians.    And  Latins  hate  Greeks, 
Greeks  hate  Latins,  much  more  than  they  do  the  Jews. 


The  curious  attitude  of  France  toward  the  Latin 
Christians  of  the  Orient  is  due  to  her  alliance  with 
Russia.  Not  to  offend  her  ally  she  tolerates  much  in 
the  shape  of  Russian  encouragement  of  Greek- Chris- 
tian aggression  —  aggression  which  she  would  not  have 
permitted  prior  to  1870.  In  the  days  of  the  Second 
Empire,  Napoleon  III  was  famed  throughout  the 
Orient  as  the  "  Protector  of  Latin  Christians."  This 
title  began  when  the  massacre  of  the  Maronite  Chris- 
tians was  checked  by  French  troops. 

These  Maronites,  by  the  way,  are  rather  an  odd  sect. 
They  are  among  the  native  groups  of  Christians  who 
date  from  the  earliest  time;  they  claim  to  be  "Primitive 
Christians,"  and  they  are  said  to  have  existed  before 
the  split  between  the  Church  of  Byzantium  and  the 
Church  of  Rome.  In  comparatively  recent  times  they 
have  been  won  over  to  recognize  the  supremacy  of  the 
Pope.  Hence  they  are  looked  upon  with  bitter  hatred 
by  other  groups  of  native  Christians,  who  regard  the 
Patriarchs  of  Jerusalem,  Damascus,  Constantinople, 
or  Moscow  as  their  religious  heads.  Nearly  all  of  the 
European  (Latin)  missions,  by  the  way,  confine  their 
attempts  at  proselyting  to  the  Greek  Christians;  they 
do  not  try  to  convert  the  Moslems  or  the  Jews.  This 
probably  is  one  of  the  causes  of  the  intense  hostility  of 
the  Greeks  for  the  Latins.  There  are  a  number  of 

[235] 


Disappointments  in  Palestine 

Protestant  missions  in  Palestine,  but  they  do  not  seem 
to  accomplish  very  much  in  the  way  of  conversions. 
They  have  excellent  schools,  where  young  Greeks, 
Latins,  Armenians,  Syrians,  Smyrniotes,  and  Jews  are 
educated  in  English  and  other  branches.  I  talked 
with  some  of  these  students,  and  when  I  asked  them 
their  "nationality"  they  invariably  answered,  as  did 
the  dragomans  and  drivers  —  "I  am  a  Jew,"  or  "I  am 
a  Latin,"  or  "  I  am  a  Greek  Christian."  But  I  never 
heard  one  of  them  say  "I  am  a  Protestant."  On  the 
other  hand,  there  seemed  to  be  no  bitterness  toward 
the  Protestant  missions.  The  various  contending 
sects  do  not  seem  to  take  them  seriously.  In  fact, 
these  ancient  churches  over  here  talk  and  act  as  if  the 
Protestant  churches  were  mere  wayfarers,  and  not  at 
all  in  the  business  to  stay.  They  do  not  even  speak  of 
Protestants  as  "Christians,"  and  do  not  so  regard  them. 
I  may  say  here  that  if  the  worthy  people  at  home 
who  contribute  to  "foreign  missions"  think  that  the 
missionaries  in  Mohammedan  countries  are  trying  to 
Christianize  Mohammedans,  they  are  much  in  error. 
The  missionaries  have  more  discretion.  Nowhere  in 
European  or  Asiatic  Turkey,  in  Syria  or  in  Egypt,  in 
Constantinople,  Smyrna,  Beirut,  Damascus,  Jerusalem, 
or  Cairo,  in  Roberts  College  or  any  Christian  mis- 
sionary school,  does  any  Christian  missionary  attempt 
to  convert  a  Mohammedan  to  Christianity.  The  result 
would  be  bad  for  both  missionary  and  convert.  The 
Christian  missionaries  do  not  even  attempt  to  make 
converts  in  these  countries.  Naturally,  this  phase  of 

[236] 


Russo-Franco-German  Rivalry 

foreign  missions  is  not  much  talked  of  at  home,  where 
the  money  is  raised.  But  this  statement  is  unquali- 
fiedly true. 


There  is  one  particularly  imposing  Protestant  insti- 
tution in  Jerusalem,  and  that  is  the  large  and  hand- 
some church  recently  erected  there  by  the  Kaiser.  But 
I  do  not  think  the  Kaiser  built  it  purely  as  a  place  in 
which  to  worship  God,  for  there  are  hardly  enough 
German  Protestants  to  fill  it.  I  think  he  built  it  partly 
because  Russia  has  so  large  a  church  and  so  large  a 
reservation  there,  and  partly  because  he  wanted  to 
show  that  if  there  was  going  to  be  anything  doing  in 
religion  in  Jerusalem,  Germany  must  make  a  showing. 

The  secret  motives  underlying  the  action  of  the  Euro- 
pean powers  here  in  Palestine  are  difficult  to  fathom. 
I  asked  one  of  the  consular  corps  in  Palestine  what  was 
his  theory  as  to  their  motives  and  intentions.  He  re- 
plied, but  requested  me  not  to  quote  him,  so  he  shall 
remain  anonymous.  This  is  the  gist  of  what  he  said: 

"France  has  for  years  striven  to  hold  the  post  of 
protector  of  Latin  Christianity  in  the  Orient.  Since 
1860,  when  French  troops  saved  Christians  from  the 
massacre  of  the  Druses,  she  has  enjoyed  that  prestige 
in  Europe.  That  prestige  was  augmented  by  Napoleon 
III,  when  he  protected  the  Maronites  from  Moslem 
aggression.  But  of  recent  years  French  prestige  has 
been  suffering.  Germany  and  Russia  have  been 
striving  in  every  possible  way  to  leave  France  in 

[237] 


Disappointments  in  Palestine 

the  rear.  It  is  difficult  for  one  who  has  not  been  in 
Jerusalem  to  understand  how  the  great  powers  of 
Europe  strive  for  prestige  in  this  ancient  city.  It  is  the 
belief  among  many  men  here  that  Russia,  for  religious 
reasons,  intends  ultimately  to  make  Jerusalem  Russian 
territory.  Since  Emperor  William's  visit  here,  a  few 
years  ago,  Germany  also  has  taken  many  steps  in 
her  occupation  of  Jerusalem.  A  magnificent  church 
has  been  erected  here  in  honor  of  the  Kaiser's  visit. 
Formerly  Germans  were  buried  in  the  graveyard  of  the 
French  monastery,  regardless  of  their  creed,  but  since 
the  Kaiser's  visit  the  Germans  have  a  graveyard  of 
their  own.  Germany  has  pushed  herself  forward  in 
many  other  ways.  Hence  France  is  straining  every 
nerve  to  impress  the  Christians,  and  particularly  the 
Latin  Christians,  with  her  importance.  Relying  on 
their  ignorance,  she  chastises  them  in  the  West,  and 
then  sends  her  officials  to  honor  their  functions  in  the 
East." 

The  remarks  of  my  friend  the  consul  were  strongly 
corroborated  by  later  happenings.  The  Kaiser  not 
long  afterward  conferred  with  some  of  the  German 
Catholic  cardinals  as  to  the  chance  of  the  Pope  turning 
over  to  Germany  the  position  of  protector  of  Latin 
Christianity  in  the  Orient.  This  position  France  will 
necessarily  have  to  vacate,  owing  to  her  separation  of 
Church  and  State.  This  separation  the  Vatican  con- 
strues as  an  attack  on  the  power  of  the  Church  in  the 
West,  and  it  certainly  will  not  allow  France  to  remain 
protector  of  the  faithful  in  the  East. 

[238] 


Jews  in  Two  Groups 

That  Germany  is  not  a  Roman  Catholic  power  goes 
for  naught.  There  is  no  Roman  Catholic  power 
strong  enough  to  assume  the  r61e  of  protector  in  the 
face  of  Russia's  position  in  the  Holy  Land.  In  fact, 
that  is  the  chief  stone  in  the  Kaiser's  path.  For  the 
fanaticism  of  the  Russian  peasants  in  Palestine  over 
the  holy  places  may  lead  to  brawls  more  bloody  than 
those  of  the  Greek  and  Latin  monks.  The  Kaiser- 
hating  among  the  French  maintain  that  the  Pope  would 
never  consent  to  make  the  Kaiser  protector  over  Roman 
Catholics  in  the  Orient.  The  answer  to  this  is  that 
when  France  abandons  the  r61e  they  will  have  no  other 
protector.  The  further  hypothesis  may  be  hazarded 
that  if  the  Pope  does  not  grant  the  right  the  Kaiser  may 
seize  it,  and  thus  secure  the  perpetual  right  of  inter- 
ference in  Constantinople,  Jerusalem,  Smyrna,  Da- 
mascus, and  at  all  points  in  the  Orient  where  Roman 
Catholics  may  be  found. 


Like  the  Christians,  even  the  Jews  in  the  Holy 
Land  are  at  war.  The  Sephardim  and  Ashkenazim 
are  hostile.  The  Jews  are  divided  into  two  groups  — 
the  descendants  of  the  ancient  Israelites  (Sephardim) 
and  the  new  immigrants  (Ashkenazim).  There  is  no 
love  lost  between  the  Sephardim  and  the  Ashkenazim. 
They  differ  radically  in  language  and  in  customs.  The 
Sephardim  speak  Oriental  dialects,  while  the  Ashkena- 
zim from  Germany,  Poland,  and  Russia  speak  Yiddish. 
The  Jewish  immigrants  from  Asia  and  Africa  consort 

[239] 


Disappointments  in  Palestine 

with  the  Sephardim,  and  the  two  clans  seem  to  be 
divided  on  Oriental  and  Occidental  lines.  The  propor- 
tion of  Spanish-speaking  Jews  is  very  large,  and  the 
Spanish  Jews  consort  with  the  Oriental  clan.  They  de- 
scend from  the  Jews  driven  out  of  Spain  in  1497  by  Fer- 
dinand and  Isabella,  and  are  ruled  by  a  Rabbi.  The 
Ashkenazim  are  under  no  particular  Rabbi,  but  are 
protected  by  the  different  European  consuls  whose  na- 
tionality they  claim.  The  third  group  of  Jews  is  called 
Cariates.  They  reject  the  Talmud  and  restrict  their 
sacred  books  to  the  Old  Testament.  They  are  said  to 
be  superior  to  the  others  in  education  and  morality. 

All  of  the  Jews  nominally  obey  a  Grand  Rabbi  who 
looks  out  for  their  interests  with  the  local  Turkish 
authorities  and  the  Porte.  He  has  a  council  of  six 
members:  three  of  them  rabbis,  and  three  laymen. 

One  of  the  causes  of  jealousy  between  the  Jewish 
groups  is  the  enormous  charitable  fund,  called  the 
Halucca,  which  is  sent  to  Jerusalem  by  Jews  all  over 
the  world.  Prior  to  the  Jerusalem  boom,  and  the 
advent  of  the  new-comers,  the  Sephardim  lived  in 
luxury  on  the  Halucca.  They  were  well  treated  by 
the  Turks,  practised  polygamy  like  them,  and  were 
quite  friendly  with  the  governing  race.  But  with  the 
arrival  of  the  Ashkenazim  all  this  was  changed.  The 
Ashkenazim  brought  to  Jerusalem  all  manner  of  Euro- 
pean prejudices  against  the  Turks,  and  the  Turks 
speedily  resented  their  attitude.  Before  long  the  Turks 
lumped  the  Jewish  clans  together,  and  treated  the 
Sephardim  as  severely  as  they  did  the  Ashkenazim. 

[240] 


Jews  Flock  to  Jerusalem 

Thus  the  Sephardim  have  suffered  both  socially  and 
financially.  Prior  to  the  boom,  the  Sephardim  received 
from  the  Halucca  enough  to  live  on  in  comfort  —  some- 
times even  in  luxury.  Since  the  arrival  of  the  Ash- 
kenazim  the  Halucca  has  been  so  divided  up  that  both 
clans  are  barely  able  to  exist.  Some  of  them  have  been 
forced  to  go  to  work.  Playing  on  the  feelings  of  chari- 
table Jews  throughout  the  world,  and  thereby  increas- 
ing the  Haluccay  is  quite  a  business  in  Jerusalem.  On 
mail-day  the  various  post-offices  of  the  different  Euro- 
pean nations  are  crowded  with  Jews  sending  off  beg- 
ging letters. 

In  addition  to  the  thousands  of  Jews  who  are  main- 
tained individually  by  the  Halucca,  there  are  many 
colonies  of  Jews  subsidized  by  foreign  associations  or 
individuals.  Baron  Rothschild  supports  one  at  Mount 
Carmel.  There  are  other  colonies  in  different  parts 
of  Palestine.  They  are  not  attractive  places,  and  do 
not  compare  with  the  Russian  and  German  settlements, 
where  the  colonists  are  self-sustaining.  The  acceptance 
of  alms  seems  to  cause  atrophy  of  the  moral  fibre.  I 
never  saw  a  Jewish  beggar  in  the  United  States,  and 
I  know  of  no  race  or  religion  that  takes  better  care  of 
its  weaklings  than  do  the  Jews  in  our  country.  But  the 
condition  to  which  these  pauperized  Jews  have  fallen 
in  these  subsidized  Palestine  colonies  shows  the  depths 
reached  by  him  who  has  ceased  to  support  himself. 

Of  the  vast  influx  of  people  to  Jerusalem  of  late 
years,  the  immigrants  are  principally  Jews.  There  are 
no  census  figures  obtainable,  but  the  foreign  consuls 


Disappointments  in  Palestine 

estimate  that  there  are  about  fifty  thousand  Jews  in 
Jerusalem  —  about  twice  as  many  as  all  the  other  in- 
habitants combined.  The  new  colonies  of  Jews  are 
due  to  the  Zionist  movement  inaugurated  by  Jewish 
millionnaires,  like  the  Rothschilds.  Israel  Zangwill, 
the  author,  is  one  of  the  ardent  advocates  of  a  hegira  of 
the  Jews  to  their  ancient  home.  Jews  are  certainly 
pouring  into  Palestine  from  all  over  Europe.  But  the 
consuls  in  Jerusalem  doubt  the  desirability  of  this 
movement;  they  say  that  the  Jewish  colonists  are  fail- 
ures as  agriculturists,  and  seem  to  succeed  only  as  shop- 
keepers or  money-changers. 

The  Jews  in  Palestine  certainly  prefer  shopkeeping 
to  agriculture,  and  one  certainly  sees  more  Jewish 
money-changers  than  Turkish,  although  it  would  seem 
fitting  for  the  business  of  changing  Turkish  money  to 
be  in  the  hands  of  Turkish  money-changers.  Perhaps 
the  Turks  do  not  understand  the  Turkish  money  as 
well  as  the  Jews  do.  Here  is  a  brief  resume  of  some  of 
its  eccentricities: 

The  Turkish  gold  unit  is  the  lira,  or  pound,  worth 
about  $5;  the  Turkish  silver  unit  is  the  piastre,  worth 
about  5  cents.  When  we  were  in  Turkey  the  lira 
was  thus  quoted:  in  Constantinople,  100  piastres;  in 
Beirut,  123  piastres;  in  Jaffa,  141  piastres;  in  Jeru- 
salem, 124  piastres;  in  Damascus,  129  piastres.  To 
this  must  be  added  the  further  fact  that  even  these 
values  fluctuated  from  day  to  day  with  the  fluctuations 
in  exchange  of  Turkish  silver.  If  I  add  to  the  fore- 
going that  the  Turkish  metallic  currency  (melallik) 

[242] 


Foreign  Mails  in  Turkey 

current  in  Constantinople  is  uncurrent  in  every  other 
Turkish  city;  if  I  state  that  the  value  of  the  Turkish 
pound  is  quoted  differently  in  buying  different  commod- 
ities; if  I  say  that  the  foregoing  is  merely  the  govern- 
ment rate  of  exchange,  and  that  there  is  a  commercial 
rate  of  exchange,  which  is  different;  if  I  remark  that 
the  four  foreign  post-offices  in  Jerusalem  have  a  rate 
of  exchange  of  their  own,  which  is  also  different ;  if  I 
set  down  the  curious  fact  that  the  railway  companies 
recognize  none  of  these  rates  of  exchange,  but  have  a 
rate  of  their  own  also  —  I  may  not  be  believed,  but 
nevertheless  it  is  entirely  true. 

That  Jerusalem  should  have  four  foreign  post-offices 
may  seem  strange,  but  it  is  true.  The  Turkish  post- 
office  is  so  bad  that  the  foreign  legations  in  Turkey 
have  been  forced  to  create  post-offices  of  their  own. 
When  a  Turk  in  Constantinople  wants  to  send  a  letter 
in  a  hurry,  he  sends  it  by  the  British,  French,  German, 
or  Austrian  post-office.  Therefore  one  of  the  pecu- 
liarities of  Constantinople,  in  addition  to  its  dogs  and 
its  smells,  is  the  variety  of  its  post-offices.  It  is  of 
record  that  a  Turkish  minister  posted  a  letter  in  Con- 
stantinople addressed  to  Washington,  another  on  the 
same  day  addressed  to  Smyrna.  The  Washington 
letter  reached  its  destination,  seven  thousand  miles 
away,  sooner  than  the  one  sent  to  Smyrna,  one  day's 
sail  away. 

The  foreign  post-offices  in  Turkey  are  very  well 
managed,  and  are  always  used  by  foreign  residents. 

Not  only  in  Constantinople  and  Jerusalem  but  in 

[243] 


Disappointments  in  Palestine 

other  large  cities  of  the  Turkish  Empire  there  are 
foreign  post-offices.  Thus,  in  Smyrna,  Beirut,  and 
Jerusalem,  you  can  not  only  mail  a  letter,  but  a  ten- 
pound  parcel  at  a  British,  French,  German,  or  Austrian 
post-office.  This,  by  the  way,  is  more  than  you  can 
do  at  an  American  post-office  in  the  United  States. 


Among  the  agreeable  disappointments  of  Palestine 
was  the  smooth  landing  we  made  at  Jaffa,  which  port 
is  notorious  for  its  stormy  seas.  But  that  disappoint- 
ment was  destined  to  be  effaced  when  we  left  Palestine. 
The  day  we  disembarked  at  Jaffa  the  sea  was  as  smooth 
as  a  mill-pond,  and  the  disembarkation  was  effected 
without  any  accident  or  discomfort.  But  the  day  we 
embarked,  conditions  were  very  different.  A  gale  had 
been  howling  for  days  along  the  Syrian  coast.  Off  the 
harbor  there  is  a  barrier  reef,  very  similar  to  those 
which  circle  the  South  Sea  Islands.  A  narrow  slit- 
like  entrance  permits  the  passage  of  small  boats.  Out- 
side of  this  the  larger  vessels  anchor  when  it  is  safe  to 
do  so,  and  lie  to  when  it  is  not.  On  this  particular  day 
there  were  a  number  of  ships  in  the  offing,  but  they  all 
had  steam  up  and  were  ready  to  put  to  sea  at  a  minute's 
notice.  Such  was  the  force  of  the  sea  and  wind  that 
the  waves  were  breaking  over  the  reef  twenty  feet  high. 
The  placid  Mediterranean,  that  "summer  sea,"  as 
many  people  like  to  call  it,  can  at  times  be  as  rude  as 
the  Atlantic.  Even  inside  the  reef  the  water  was  by 
no  means  smooth. 

[244] 


Russian  Pilgrims 

Among  the  half  score  of  big  ships  tossing  and  tum- 
bling about  on  the  rough  waves  without,  were  three 
Russian  ships  of  war  and  one  Russian  passenger  vessel. 
From  the  men-of-war  there  streamed  stiffly  in  the  keen 
wind  the  blue  and  white  banner  of  Russia.  The  port 
facilities  at  Jaffa  are  comparatively  limited.  There 
is  a  space  of  some  fifty  or  sixty  yards  of  stone  quay, 
alongside  of  which  row-boats  come  to  embark  and 
disembark  passengers.  When  the  number  of  passen- 
gers arriving  and  sailing  is  large,  the  boats  wait  for 
places  at  the  quay,  and  the  passengers  also  wait  for  the 
boats.  When  we  were  there  a  stream  of  boats  was 
pouring  in  from  the  Russian  passenger  vessel.  As 
they  came  alongside,  there  crawled,  leaped,  were  lifted, 
or  slung,  according  to  age,  sex,  and  condition,  hordes 
of  filthy  Russian  peasants.  As  soon  as  they  landed 
they  fell  upon  their  faces,  and  with  their  blubbery  lips 
kissed  with  resounding  smacks  the  slabs  of  stone.  Evi- 
dently they  looked  upon  the  pier  as  being  the  sacred 
soil  of  the  Holy  Land.  I  could  not  but  smile  when  I 
reflected  that,  only  a  few  moments  before,  this  sacred 
soil  had  been  occupied  by  gangs  of  Mohammedan 
porters  passing  boxes,  bags,  and  bundles  from  one 
another  to  the  boats.  As  they  worked  they  indulged 
in  a  droning  sing-song  —  what  sailors  call  a  "shanty" 
—  to  help  them  in  their  work.  As  I  listened  to  their 
rhythmical  grunt  I  was  curious  to  know  what  they  were 
saying,  and  asked  a  dragoman.  It  sounded  to  me  like 
"  La- Allah-il- Allah,"  etc.  —  the  well-known  saying 
which  we  all  of  us  remember  from  the  "Arabian 

[245] 


Disappointments  in  Palestine 

Nights."  The  dragoman  corroborated  my  belief,  and 
added  that  the  other  words  meant  for  the  next  man  to 
hurry  the  baggage  along.  In  short,  from  his  transla- 
tion, I  think  their  " shanty"  was  something  like  this: 
"  Come,  get  a  move  on.  Allah  is  great.  Pass  it  along. 
Allah  is  great." 

A  Russian  friend  once  told  me  that  it  is  the  fashion 
in  Russia  for  entire  strangers  to  cry  to  those  they  meet 
on  Easter  Day,  "Christ  is  risen!"  One  particularly 
hairy  Russian  moujik  was  just  arising  from  his  oscula- 
tions of  the  stone  pier  when  his  eye  caught  mine.  He 
rushed  upon  me  with  outstretched  arms,  shouting  a 
greeting,  and  showing  so  friendly  a  disposition  that  I 
fled  in  terror.  My  Russian  friend  had  told  me  that 
the  Russian  peasants  not  only  greet  strangers  with  the 
words,  "Christ  is  risen,"  but  frequently  embrace  them. 
I  was  afraid  my  hairy  friend  intended  to  embrace  me 
—  perhaps  to  kiss  me  with  the  same  pious  lips  which 
he  had  just  imprinted  on  the  porter-defiled  pier.  So 
I  did  not  hesitate.  Discretion  is  the  better  part  of 
valor.  I  did  not  think  he  intended  to  kill  me,  only  to 
kiss  me;  but  I  ran. 

The  passage  from  the  pier  at  Jaffa  to  the  ship  was 
not  a  pleasant  one.  The  Jaffa  boats  are  not  unlike 
whale-boats:  they  are  high  in  bow  and  stern,  rowed 
with  long  sweeps,  and  steered  with  a  sweep  astern  made 
fast  to  a  thole-pin.  The  boatmen  who  handle  them 
are  skilful  with  their  oars,  and  aside  from  the  fact  that 
they  are  parasitic,  dirty,  and  would  cut  your  throat  for 
sixpence,  I  have  no  doubt  that  they  are  very  worthy 


The  Sea  at  Jaffa 

men.  Still,  rarely  does  one  part  from  a  set  of  ship- 
mates with  so  much  joy  as  from  these  Jaffa  boatmen. 
On  our  boat  one  barefooted  mariner,  who  lost  his  toe- 
grip  on  the  gunwale,  fell  overboard.  His  comrades 
paid  not  the  least  attention  to  him;  he  swam  around, 
trying  to  climb  into  various  boats,  but  repulsed  by  all; 
the  occupants  feared  he  would  shake  himself  like  a  wet 
dog,  so  he  had  to  swim  ashore. 

Our  boatmen  had  made  not  more  than  three  strokes 
with  their  long  sweeps  when  our  whale-boat  began  to 
poise  herself  alternately  on  bow  and  stern.  Then  she 
rolled,  she  pitched,  she  tossed,  she  made  every  move- 
ment possible  to  the  laws  of  gravitation  and  flotation. 
As  she  did  so,  the  countenances  of  the  people  aboard 
instantly  changed.  I  have  seen  a  great  many  sea-sick 
people  in  my  time,  and  I  may  have  seen  more  people 
sea-sick  than  there  were  in  our  boat,  but  I  never  saw 
people  more  sea-sick  —  that  is,  so  sea-sick  —  that  is, 
sea-sicker.  There  are  stages  of  sea-sickness  where 
ladies  attempt  to  conceal  the  fact  that  they  are  under 
the  weather.  There  was  no  such  attempt  in  this  boat. 
Anybody  who  was  sick  was  frankly  sea-sick.  We  were 
right  down  to  the  plain,  primitive  man  and  woman 
and  no  nonsense  about  it. 

The  extreme  lack  of  formality  in  our  boat  reminded 
me  of  one  of  Keene's  droll  bits  in  Punch  years  ago  —  a 
picture  of  a  sea-sick  woman  aboard  a  Channel  steamer. 
A  sea-sick  man  beside  her  has  his  head  pillowed  in  her 
lap.  A  passing  good  Samaritan  says:  "Madam,  look 
at  your  husband's  awful  pallor  —  you  had  better 

[247] 


Disappointments  in  Palestine 

have  him  taken  below."  To  which  the  sea-sick  lady 
replies  with  a  dreadful  calmness:  "He's  not  my  hus- 
band. I  don't  know  who  he  is."  There  were  occur- 
rences in  our  boat  which  strongly  reminded  me  of  this 
picture. 

When  half-way  to  the  ship  we  passed  through  the 
barrier  reef  and  got  into  the  open  sea.  Then  we 
instinctively  felt  that  inside  the  reef  it  had  been  com- 
paratively smooth.  Outside  the  reef  the  boat  really 
began  to  get  a  move  on  her,  and  here  the  boatmen  chose 
to  stop  rowing.  Any  one  who  has  ever  sailed  the  seas 
knows  that  it  is  much  easier  to  preserve  one's  com- 
posure and  dinner  when  a  vessel  is  under  way  than 
when  she  has  stopped.  There  were  some  stern  spirits 
in  our  boat  who  had  hitherto  maintained  comparative 
calmness.  But  when  we  passed  through  the  reef  and 
the  rowing  stopped,  most  of  them  gave  way.  It  was 
indeed  a  lamentable  spectacle.  As  I  gazed  over  this 
mass  of  men,  women,  and  luggage  it  seemed  that  the 
percentage  of  sea-sickness  was  about  ninety-seven  out 
of  a  possible  hundred.  In  fact,  everything  seemed 
to  be  sea-sick,  except  the  boatmen  and  the  boat.  Even 
the  baggage  writhed  uneasily  — -  the  very  valises  oped 
their  clammy  jaws. 

The  rowing  stopped  because  the  boatmen  had  chosen 
this  spot  for  bakshish.  True,  they  had  agreed  to  take 
us  from  shore  to  ship  for  a  specified  sum.  True,  they 
had  agreed  they  would  demand  no  bakshish.  But 
all  the  same,  when  they  got  us  past  the  reef  a  cry  of 
"bakshish"  arose.  One  was  selected  as  collector. 

[248] 


Sea-sickness  and  Bakshish 

He  went  around,  and  never  in  my  experience  in  the 
Orient  did  I  see  a  crowd  of  people  yield  up  bakshish 
with  so  much  alacrity.  I  will  do  the  collector  the 
justice  to  say  that  he  was  decent  enough  not  to  attempt 
to  collect  from  those  women  who  were  in  a  state  of 
collapse,  but  any  woman  who  could  hold  her  head  up 
had  to  pay,  and  all  the  men  had  to  pay,  sea-sick  or  not. 
He  also  complied  with  the  request  of  the  gathering  that 
he  should  "make  haste "  and  "hurry  up; "  for  he  spoke 
a  little  English,  and  he  informed  them  that  the  best 
way  to  accelerate  matters  was  to  have  their  money 
ready  and  expect  no  change.  Everybody  followed 
his  advice.  Nobody  asked  for  change.  Nobody  got 
any. 

When  we  reached  the  ship's  side,  most  of  the  ladies 
had  to  be  lifted  up  out  of  the  bottom  of  the  boat, 
where  they  were  in  a  heap ;  as  the  platform  of  the  gang- 
way was  sometimes  fifteen  feet  in  the  air  above  our 
heads,  and  as  we  were  sometimes  fifteen  feet  above  it 
and  looking  down,  they  had  to  be  tossed  by  the  boat- 
men into  the  arms  of  the  brawny  sailors  on  the  gang- 
way. They  came  almost  any  end  up,  and  the  deadly 
nature  of  their  malady  may  be  inferred  from  the  fact 
that  they  paid  not  the  slightest  attention  to  their  ap- 
pearance, to  their  petticoats,  or  to  whether  their  hats 
were  on  straight. 


[249] 


XV 
CAIRO'S  ROUTES  AND   INNS 


XV 

CAIRO'S  ROUTES  AND  INNS 

jHE  various  steamship  lines  from  Europe 
to  Egypt  are  mentioned  in  detail  in  the 
first  chapter  of  this  book.  As  will  there 
be  observed,  the  number  of  steamers  has 
much  increased  during  the  past  two  or  three  years;  even 
the  number  of  lines  has  been  increased. 

On  our  journey  to  Egypt  in  the  winter  of  1905,  we 
sailed  both  ways  under  the  British  flag  —  one  way  by 
the  Peninsular  and  Oriental,  the  other  by  the  White 
Star  line.  On  previous  voyages  between  Egypt  and 
the  Occident  we  had  sailed  under  other  flags.  It  must 
be  admitted  that  the  passenger  lists  in  such  cases  were 
more  interesting  than  on  the  British  ships.  On  one 
occasion  I  remember  that  we  carried  an  Oriental  pasha 
and  his  entire  harem,  together  with  a  most  remarkable 
assortment  of  Sicilian  priests,  Greek  monks,  French 
abbe's  (they  did  not  fraternize),  English  army  officers, 
Anglo-Indian  civilians,  Italian  actors,  French  officers 
from  Madagascar,  German  honeymooners,  Greek 
dandies,  and  Levantine  ladies  of  various  nationalities, 
including  some  Cypriote  beauties  with  languishing 

[253] 


Cairo's  Routes  and  Inns 

eyes.  This  winter,  however,  on  both  the  P.  and  O.  and 
White  Star  steamers,  the  passengers  were  made  up  of 
American  and  British  travellers,  all  eminently  respect- 
able, and  entirely  uninteresting. 

The  P.  and  O.  ships  are  very  crowded  in  winter  for 
the  "short-sea"  route  —  that  is  between  Marseilles 
and  Port  Said.  At  this  latter  port  all  the  Egyptian 
passengers  disembark,  and  only  the  Indian  passengers 
remain.  Even  of  these  voyagers  booked  for  the  Far 
East  many  do  not  take  the  "long-sea"  route  from 
England  across  the  Bay  of  Biscay  and  past  Gibraltar, 
but  join  their  ships  either  at  Marseilles  or  Brindisi. 
As  a  result,  the  ship  has  a  light  passenger  list  at 
both  ends  of  her  run,  and  an  overcrowded  one  in 
the  middle. 

Between  Marseilles  and  Port  Said  our  ship  was  so 
crowded  that  the  chief  steward  was  forced  to  have 
"first"  and  "second  sittings,"  as  he  called  them,  or 
"first"  and  "second  tables,"  as  they  are  usually  de- 
nominated on  American  steamships.  I  was  amused 
at  the  difference  between  the  practical  American  and 
the  more  conventional  Britisher.  The  Britons  greatly 
preferred  the  late  dinner  hour  at  half  past  seven.  But 
those  who  selected  that  hour  for  dinner  were  also 
obliged  to  take  the  late  breakfast  hour.  As  the  British 
largely  outnumbered  the  Americans,  there  was  a  grand 
rush  for  the  "second  sitting."  The  Americans  thus 
found  themselves  with  first  choice  of  seats  for  the  "first 
sitting."  After  the  first  day  out  many  Britons  began 
to  suspect  that  they  had  blundered.  As  the  Americans 

[254] 


Box  and  Cox  at  Sea 

trooped  in  to  dinner  at  half  past  six,  the  hungry  Britons 
gathered  like  Peris  at  the  gates  of  Paradise,  and  greedily 
watched  them  eat.  As  they  saw  the  tureens  of  soup, 
dishes  of  fish,  and  pyramids  of  hash  borne  in  and  out 
—  all  cooked  at  the  same  hour,  and  destined  to  regale 
them  an  hour  or  so  later  —  they  grew  visibly  perturbed. 
On  the  second  day  out,  at  the  eight  o'clock  breakfast 
sitting,  I  was  just  about  to  take  my  seat,  when  I  col- 
lided with  another  voyager,  to  whom  I  said  sweetly: 
"Beg  pardon;  this  is  a  hundred  and  six  —  my  num- 
ber, please."  He  looked  at  me  gloomily,  and  responded, 
"It's  mine,  too;"  whereupon  he  appealed  to  the  chief 
steward  to  be  allowed  to  breakfast  then  instead  of  at 
half  past  nine.  But  the  steward  was  obdurate  and 
refused,  so  Cox  withdrew.  For  he  was  Cox  and  I  was 
Box.  He  was  my  alter  ego,  my  doppelganger.  Cox 
retired,  and  glared  hungrily  at  me  through  the  cabin 
skylight,  while  I  lingered  tantalizingly  over  the  break- 
fast delicacies.  Only  once  during  this  sitting  did  I 
feel  my  serene  sense  of  satisfaction  disturbed.  It  was 
when  I  suddenly  thought  of  the  napkins.  "Great 
heavens!"  said  I;  "if  Cox  uses  the  same  numbered 
chair  as  I  do,  does  he  use  the  same  numbered  napkin- 
ring?"  I  called  my  table- waiter  to  my  side,  and  with 
a  faltering  voice  asked  him  to  shed  light  on  this  dark 
matter.  He  relieved  me  mightily  by  at  once  producing 
Cox's  napkin-ring.  True,  it  was  numbered  "106," 
but  it  had  a  circle  under  it.  I,  being  Box,  had  the  first 
napkin-ring,  and  mine  was  numbered  "106"  straight, 
with  no  circle.  The  sight  of  these  cryptic  napkin-rings 

[255] 


Cairo's  Routes  and  Inns 

relieved  me  greatly.  Cox  was  an  inoffensive-looking 
person,  but  one  draws  the  line  at  napkins. 

For  this  and  other  reasons  I  was  extremely  glad  that 
I  had  signed  articles  for  the  first  sitting  instead  of  the 
second.  The  sight  of  a  breakfast  battle-field,  with  its 
gouts  of  gravy,  its  awful  grub-stains,  its  exploded  egg- 
shells, and  other  signs  of  carnage,  has  always  confirmed 
me  in  my  preference  for  pictures  of  peace  rather  than 
war. 

I  may  remark  here  that  the  P.  and  O.  boats  land  at 
Port  Said,  the  White  Star  steamers  at  Alexandria. 
The  special  service  of  the  North  German  Lloyd  lands 
at  Alexandria,  the  Adriatic  service  of  that  and  the  Ham- 
burg-American line  at  Port  Said.  I  strongly  advise 
travellers  sailing  for  Egypt  to  go  via  Alexandria.  It 
is  a  fairly  interesting  city  and  well  worth  a  visit,  while 
Port  Said  is  dirty,  dreary,  uninteresting,  and  malo- 
dorous. The  three-hour  railway  journey  from  Alex- 
andria to  Cairo  runs  through  the  richest  part  of  the 
Nile  Delta,  while  that  from  Port  Said  presents  few  or 
no  points  of  interest.  Special  trains  are  frequently 
run  between  Cairo  and  Alexandria  when  the  larger 
steamers  are  sailing;  rarely,  if  ever,  from  Port  Said,  as 
it  is  not  always  known  when  the  west-bound  steamers 
will  arrive  there.  Travellers  via  Port  Said,  being  on 
ships  making  long  voyages,  such  as  from  England  to 
India,  or  Germany  to  China,  cannot  tell  the  approximate 
time  of  their  arrival.  They  cannot  even  tell  the  date, 
much  less  whether  it  will  probably  be  by  night  or  day. 
In  fact,  such  passengers  are  sometimes  obliged  to  dis- 

[256] 


Court  0}  an  Arab  House  with  Musharabiyeh  Windows  and  Furniture 


Cairo  Dragomans 

embark  at  Port  Sai'd  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  by 
means  of  small  boats,  in  Cimmerian  darkness,  while 
their  steamer  goes  on. 


The  more  enterprising  among  the  Cairo  dragomans 
do  not  wait  for  their  prey  in  the  Cairo  hotels.  Nor  do 
they  confine  themselves  to  the  railway  station.  They 
go  far  afield  when  a  European  steamship  is  due;  they 
meet  the  traveller  at  Alexandria  or  Port  Said. 

When  we  first  visited  Egypt  we  fell  at  once  into  the 
hands  of  Dragoman  Achmet  Mohammed.  Achmet 
had  recommendations  from  many  of  the  great  ones  of 
the  earth.  Besides,  he  was  no  worse  than  any  other 
dragoman.  They  all  rob  you,  more  or  less;  but  they 
certainly  prevent  you  from  being  robbed  a  great  deal 
more  by  others.  They  get  commissions  on  everything 
you  buy,  and  steer  you  into  high-priced  places;  but, 
generally  speaking,  they  keep  you  out  of  places  where 
you  would  get  into  trouble.  So  they  are,  perhaps,  a 
necessary  evil. 

On  our  second  visit  to  Cairo  we  did  not  deem  it 
necessary  to  see  all  the  stock  sights  —  we  had  come 
to  enjoy  ourselves.  So  we  rebuffed  numerous  Cairo 
dragomans  at  Alexandria.  But  when  we  alighted  at 
the  Cairo  railway  station,  the  first  person  I  saw  was 
Achmet  Mohammed.  My  heart  fell.  I  hoped  he 
would  not  recognize  me.  No  such  luck.  He  knew  me 
at  once,  hastened  to  my  side,  called  a  carriage,  and 
assisted  me  to  enter  it  with  that  deferential  hand- cup 

[257] 


Cairo's  Routes  and  Inns 

for  my  elbow  which  I  knew  so  well.  I  made  a  feeble 
attempt  to  explain  to  Achmet  that  we  would  not  need 
him.  He  received  this  remark  with  a  trustful  smile 
of  incredulity.  When  we  reached  the  hotel,  Achmet 
swiftly  paid  and  dismissed  the  cabman  without  asking 
me  for  the  money.  Then  I  knew  that  I  was  lost.  I 
was  no  longer  my  own  man.  I  belonged  to  Achmet 
Mohammed. 

But  what  boots  it  to  tell  of  my  futile  struggle  ?  Ach- 
met had  ignored  other  wayfarers,  had  fastened  himself 
to  me,  and  had  thus  lost  his  chance  for  any  other  client 
until  the  arrival  of  the  next  steamer.  So  he  was  deter- 
mined not  to  let  me  go.  Did  I  seat  myself  on  the  ter- 
race? Achmet  would  come  and  stand  behind  my 
chair.  Did  I  call  a  cab?  Achmet  would  suddenly 
appear  and  abuse  the  cabman  violently  in  order  to 
impress  him  with  my  importance.  Did  I  enter  a  shop  ? 
Achmet  entered  it  also  from  another  door.  He  was 
proof  against  everything  —  abuse,  entreaty,  cursing. 
I  assured  him  warmly  that  he  was  losing  his  time,  for 
not  a  piastre  would  he  receive  from  me.  But  Achmet 
soothingly  replied  that  his  motives  were  not  mercenary 
—  that  he  wished  to  serve  me  only  in  consideration  of 
love  and  affection. 

But  another  steamer  came  with  a  new  lot  of  travel- 
lers. Among  them  was  a  family  I  knew.  I  greeted 
them  with  an  unholy  glitter  in  my  eye.  I  was  more 
than  cordial  —  I  was  effusive.  As  soon  as  the  oppor- 
tunity served  —  perhaps  sooner  —  I  took  Paterfamilias 
aside  and  asked  him  if  he  had  secured  a  dragoman. 

[258] 


Conscientious  Travellers 

No,  he  had  not,  and  he  needed  one,  for  they  were  going 
up  the  Nile.  "Up  the  Nile!"  My  heart  leaped  for 
joy.  I  turned  around  and  clapped  my  hands;  I  did 
not  see  Achmet,  but  I  knew  that  he  was  near.  In 
truth  he  was;  he  appeared  like  the  Hindoostanee  magi- 
cian who  comes  out  of  the  ground.  I  presented  Achmet 
to  Paterfamilias.  I  told  him  that  Achmet  was  the  boss 
dragoman  —  that  among  Egyptian  dragomans  he  was 
easily  It. 

The  next  morning  the  family  took  Achmet  up  the 
Nile.  I  did  not  wish  him  any  particular  harm,  but  I 
could  not  help  hoping  that  they  would  lose  him  some- 
where —  in  the  First  or  Second  Cataract,  say. 


There  are  two  sets  of  travellers  in  Egypt:  the  first 
are  those  who  use  Cairo  only  as  a  stopping-place  on 
their  way  to  other  stations;  the  second,  those  who  care 
naught  for  Upper  Egypt,  the  ruins,  or  the  Nile,  and 
who  consider  Cairo  the  only  point  of  interest  in  the 
whole  of  Egypt.  The  latter  class  is  usually  made  up 
of  those  who  have  visited  Egypt  more  than  once.  The 
traveller  who  has  made  a  previous  visit  to  Egypt  may 
settle  down  in  Cairo  with  the  comfortable  sensation 
that  he  is  not  obliged  to  do  the  Nile,  to  do  Luxor, 
Thebes,  or  Memphis,  to  do  the  ruins  of  Karnak,  or  to 
do  anything  at  all  unless  he  pleases. 

But  those  travellers  who  are  in  Egypt  for  the  first 
time  enjoy  no  such  delightful  feeling  of  mild  do-nothing- 

[259] 

^ 
** 


OF 


Cairo's  Routes  and  Inns 

ism.  Such  travellers  are  slaves  of  duty.  Concerning 
them,  an  old  Cairo  devotee  said  to  me  one  day: 

4 'Poor  creatures!  They  want  to  stay  in  Cairo,  but, 
driven  by  duty,  they  must  move  on.  They  would  like 
to  lounge  along  the  ever  shifting  streets  and  bazaars 
of  the  Mouski  quarter;  instead  of  this,  they  let  them- 
selves be  dragged  off  to  view  tumble-down  ruins  in 
which  they  are  not  interested.  They  would  like  to  sit 
among  the  brilliant  throng  on  the  hotel  terraces,  and 
look  at  snake-charmers  and  jugglers;  instead  of  this, 
they  let  themselves  be  hauled  around  to  mouldy  old 
mosques  which  delight  them  not.  They  allow  them- 
selves to  be  whisked  up  the  Nile  by  tourist  agents,  in 
narrow  stern-wheel  boats  with  cell-like  state-rooms 
where  they  are  fried  by  day  and  frozen  by  night.  They 
permit  themselves  to  be  driven  off  on  donkey-back 
over  sandy,  dusty  trails,  across  great  stretches  of  desert, 
to  gaze  on  gigantic  ruins,  taking  four  days  to  do  things 
which  it  would  require  four  weeks  to  do  properly.  And 
all  this  they  call  'travelling  for  pleasure/" 

While  I  do  not  agree  with  this  Cairo  devotee  in  his 
low  estimate  of  everything  Egyptian  that  is  not  Cairene, 
he  is  certainly  right  in  his  picture  of  these  slaves  of  duty. 
Among  them  I  once  encountered  a  young  woman  who 
had  only  a  week  in  Egypt  and  who  wanted  to  spend 
it  in  Cairo.  I  heard  her  say  in  a  melancholy  tone: 
"How  I  wish  I  could  stay  in  this  lovely  city!  But  it 
is  my  duty  to  go  up  the  Nile!"  And  she  went.  An- 
other young  woman,  smitten  with  the  Cairo  charm, 
tried  to  sell  her  Nile  ticket  at  a  ruinous  sacrifice.  Fail- 

[260] 


Unlike  Constantinople 

ing  in  her  attempted  sale,  this  second  slave  of  duty 
made  the  Nile  trip,  like  Niobe  all  tears. 

This  gives  some  idea  of  the  charm  of  Cairo  to  the 
new-comer  as  well  as  to  the  old.  It  is,  in  truth,  a  fasci- 
nating city.  For  some  reason,  the  Cairo  Moham- 
medans seem  less  hostile  to  strangers  than  they  are  in 
many  Moslem  cities.  In  some  Turkish  towns  the  true 
believers  show  plainly  by  their  looks  and  demeanor 
that  they  hate  Christians.  Constantinople,  for  example, 
—  outside  of  the  European  quarter,  Pera  —  is  not  a 
pleasant  place  for  Christian  strangers.  Sour  looks 
and  words  that  sound  like  curses  come  from  the  adults, 
while  over-ripe  fruit,  unsalable  vegetables,  and  even 
stones  at  times  come  from  the  little  boys.  In  short, 
while  Stamboul  is  sulky,  grimy,  and  grim,  Cairo  is 
cheerful,  light,  and  pleasant. 

In  other  ways  Cairo  differs  markedly  from  Constanti- 
nople. When  one  compares  the  magnificent  steel 
bridge  across  the  Nile  with  the  tottering,  decrepit 
wrecks  across  the  Golden  Horn,  he  may  note  the  differ- 
ence between  modern  Mohammedanism  and  Moham- 
medanism that  is  decaying.  That  venerable  structure, 
the  Galata  bridge  at  Constantinople,  looks  as  if  it  were 
composed  of  bed-slats,  old  tin  roofing,  rusty  gas-pipe, 
and  superannuated  stair-rails.  When  it  gets  acute 
structural  weakness,  it  is  fastened  together  with  cor- 
roded wire  or  old  barrel-hoops.  Occasionally  the 
railing  tumbles  off  for  fifty  or  a  hundred  feet,  carrying 
with  it  fifty  or  a  hundred  true  believers  into  Paradise 
via  the  Golden  Horn.  If  Abdul  Hamid  were  to  visit 


Cairo's  Routes  and  Inns 

the  Khedive  and  compare  bridges,  he  would  go  back 
to  Yildez  Kiosk  with  a  still  stronger  dislike  than  he  now 
has  for  his  wealthy  vassal. 

A  signal  difference  between  Cairo  and  Constanti- 
nople is  in  the  matter  of  light.  After  nightfall  Stam- 
boul  is  as  dark  as  a  church  is  on  a  week-day,  while 
Cairo  is  as  brilliantly  lighted  as  a  saloon.  The  rules 
regulating  vehicle  lights  are  so  stringent  that  not  only 
hackney-cabs  but  private  carriages,  farm-wagons,  and 
donkey-carts  are  obliged  to  carry  lights.  One  evening 
while  driving  out  to  the  Pyramids,  we  saw  a  farmer  and 
his  wife  returning  in  a  cart  from  selling  their  produce 
in  Cairo.  It  was  dusk,  but  I  could  plainly  see  the 
anxious  look  on  the  dark  face  of  the  farmer's  wife, 
lighted  by  the  candle  which  she  held  shaded  by  her 
hand.  Thus  the  vehicle  was  provided  with  a  light  — 
thus  she  complied  with  the  law.  If  toward  evening 
you  are  driving  in  a  cab,  if  the  legal  hour  for  lighting  is 
reached,  your  cabman  stops  at  once,  nimbly  hops  down, 
and  quickly  lights  up.  In  this  respect  Cairo  is  better 
policed  than  many  Occidental  cities. 

Still  another  difference  between  Cairo  and  Constanti- 
nople is  in  the  treatment  of  pedestrians.  All  over  the 
Orient  the  footman  has  no  rights.  But  at  Constanti- 
nople he  seems  to  be  more  brutally  treated  than  else- 
where. There  the  drivers  seem  to  try  to  run  him  down 
without  warning.  But  in  Cairo  they  have  a  series  of 
curious  cries  with  which  they  warn  a  footman.  They 
specify  the  particular  part  of  his  anatomy  which  is  in 
danger,  thus: 


Street  Cries  of  Warning 

"Look  out  for  thy  left  shin,  O  uncle!" 
"  Boy,  have  a  care  for  the  little  toe  on  thy  right  foot!" 
"O  blind  beggar,  look  out  for  thy  staff!" 
And  the  blind  beggar,  feeling  his  way  with  the  staff 
in  his  right  hand,  at  once  obediently  turns  to  the  left. 
"O  Prankish  woman,  look  out  for  thy  left  foot!" 
"O  burden-bearer,  thy  load  is  in  danger!" 
"O  water-carrier,  look  out  for  the  tail  end  of  thy 
pig-skin  water-bottle!" 

"  O  son  of  Sheitan,  conceived  in  the  Bab-El-Tophet, 
have  a  care  and  look  to  thy  camel's  left  pannier,  or  it 
will  be  hurt!" 

"O  fellah  farmer,  swing  around  thy  buffalo  so  that 
his  left  buttock  may  not  strike  on  my  right  wheel!" 

"O  carter,  why  dost  thou  let  thy  cart  project  across 
the  Khedive's  highway?" 

"O  group  of  four  fellaheen  standing  in  the  roadway, 
if  the  gent  on  the  left,  him  with  the  blue  gown  and  the 
white  turban,  does  not  get  a  wiggle  on  him  quick,  my 
horse  will  send  him  where  the  black-eyed  houris  are 
comforting  the  true  believers.  Cluck!  Git-ep!  La- 
Allah-il- Allah!  Wow!" 

A  word  about  the  Cairo  shopkeepers.  The  term 
bakshish  has  meanings  other  than  alms  and  tips. 
After  a  long  and  animated  haggling  between  shop- 
keeper and  customer,  the  shopkeeper  will  sometimes 
refuse  to  concede  say  twenty-five  piastres  reduction 
demanded  by  the  customer.  If,  however,  the  cus- 
tomer will  agree  to  buy  the  goods  at  the  fixed  price,  the 
shopkeeper  will  agree  to  give  him  a  bakshish  of  twenty- 

[263] 


Cairo's  Routes  and  Inns 

five  piastres  when  the  transaction  is  closed.  This  is 
almost  identical  with  the  practices  of  the  great  American 
railways  with  large  shippers  of  merchandise.  The 
companies  will  make  no  discounts  from  their  rates, 
but  when  the  full  rates  are  charged  they  will  make  a 
"rebate." 

This  is  exactly  like  the  bakshish  of  the  Oriental 
shopkeeper.  Verily,  there  is  nothing  new  under  the 

«.  : 

There  is  a  Famous  Caravansary  in  Cairo  which  has 
been  so  thoroughly  advertised  that  its  name  is  known 
all  over  the  world.  Young  women  in  the  Middle  West 
who  never  were  farther  east  than  Buffalo  have  all  heard 
of  this  hotel  and  hope  to  go  there  when  they  make  the 
Grand  Tour.  They  still  think  it  is  the  haunt  of  the 
aristocracy,  and  that  it  is  a  social  halo  to  stop  there. 
But  they  are  in  error.  This  Famous  Caravansary  has 
not  only  deteriorated  practically,  but  it  has  cheapened 
socially:  other  hotels  now  get  the  princelings,  the  dukes, 
and  the  lords.  The  last  few  seasons  the  one  frequented 
by  the  royalty  and  nobility  seemed  to  be  the  Savoy. 
Here  stopped  the  Crown  Prince  of  Germany  and  his 
brother,  Archduke  Ferdinand  of  Austria,  the  Duke  and 
Duchess  of  Connaught,  the  ex-Empress  Eugenie,  the 
Duke  and  Duchess  of  Devonshire,  the  Crown  Prince 
of  Sweden,  and  many  other  lesser  great  ones. 

Personally  I  care  nothing  for  the  social  standing  of 
a  hotel.  I  am  much  more  interested  in  its  cookery. 
But  that  at  the  once  Famous  Cairo  Caravansary  of 

[264] 


A  Famous  Caravansary 

which  I  speak  is  no  longer  good.  Generally  speaking, 
you  must  take  the  table  d'hdte  dinner  at  foreign  hotels. 
It  is  all  very  well  to  talk  about  "dining  a  la  carte"  but, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  the  preparation  of  the  table  d'hote 
dinner  taxes  the  resources  of  any  large  Egyptian  hotel. 
If  you  order  a  dinner  a  la  carte  you  have  to  wait  a  long 
time  for  it,  and  then  it  is  usually  not  so  good  as  the 
table  d'hote  dinner.  The  wise  man,  therefore,  orders 
the  table  d'hdle  dinner,  but  has  it  served  at  a  separate 
table  for  a  small  extra  charge.  If  the  menu  is  not  to 
his  liking,  he  can  order  some  supplementary  dish.  It 
is  always  possible,  however,  to  make  out  a  dinner  by 
selecting  from  the  menu  at  a  good  table  d'hdte  dinner. 
But  it  is  not  possible  with  a  bad  one,  and  that  is  the 
kind  the  Famous  Caravansary  served  during  the  season 
before  the  last. 

At  a  good  table  d'hote  dinner  there  are  always  solid 
things  —  joints,  chops,  filets,  fowls,  birds,  or  game,  so 
that  all  tastes  can  be  catered  to.  But  the  cheap  table 
d'hote  dinner  shuns  these  more  costly  dishes,  and 
garnishes  its  bill  of  fare  with  queer  "croquettes," 
mysterious  " cromesquis,"  anonymous  "ragouts,"  "ka- 
bobs,"  and  "pilaffs,"  which  latter  are  made  of  musky 
muttonhash,  disguised  under  Turkish  names.  All 
these  weird  composite  things  figured  largely  on  the  bill 
of  fare  at  this  caravansary  —  likewise  "bouch^es"  and 
"pate's."  There  are  said  to  be  three  great  kinds  of  pi- 
laff— Turkish,  Persian,  and  Grecian.  There  are  four — 
the  other  kind  is  this  Cairo  caravansary  kind.  Avoid  it. 

Of  these  various  poetically  named  dishes,  the  "cro- 

[265] 


Cairo's  Routes  and  Inns 

quettes"  are  unmistakably  hash;  the  "cromesqui"  is 
an  exotic  hash;  the  "boucheV'  is  a  thinly  disguised 
hash;  the  "pate*"  is  frankly  hash;  the  "rissole"  is  a 
kind  of  doughy  dumb-bell  closed  all  round  like  an 
apple  dumpling  and  filled  inside  with  hash.  Occa- 
sionally one  found  on  the  bill  the  appetizing  legend 
"pain  de  volaille,"  which  turned  out  to  be  minced 
chicken  and  bread-crumbs  —  therefore  also  hash. 

But  the  most  dreadful  deception  was  when  I  saw  on 
the  bill  one  day  the  legend,  "cdtelettes  de  volaille.'* 
There  are  two  varieties  of  this  dish  —  one  consists  of 
tempting  slices  cut  from  a  fat  fowl,  and  served  some- 
times en  papillotte:  these  are  the  true  chicken  cutlets. 
This  particular  day  I  knew  not  which  kind  we  were  to 
have,  but  when  it  was  served  my  spirits  fell  —  it  was 
the  other  kind.  That  kind  of  a  chicken  cutlet  consists 
of  yesterday's  and  the-day-before-yesterday's  chicken, 
boiled  down,  chopped  up,  and  ground  through  a  minc- 
ing machine,  including  the  viscera,  the  drumsticks, 
and  the  antennae  of  the  chicken.  This  is  then  made 
into  the  shape  of  a  lamb  chop,  cooked  to  a  delicate 
brown,  and  a  little  white  stick  is  stuck  into  one  end  of 
it,  like  the  bone  of  a  chop.  The  little  stick  is  adding 
insult  to  injury  —  yet  that  is  the  kind  of  "chicken 
cutlet"  they  gave  us  one  day  at  the  Famous  Caravan- 
sary in  Cairo. 

^(fr 

There  was  an  "Hungarian  orchestra"  at  the  Famous 
Caravansary  winter  before  last.  Like  the  poor,  we 
have  Hungarian  orchestras  always  with  us,  so  the  fact 

[266] 


A  Fascinating  Fiddler 

is  not  notable.  But  the  leader  was.  He  played  first 
violin  as  well  as  led.  He  was  a  beautiful  creature:  he 
had  mustaches  turned  up  at  the  ends,  like  those  of 
William  the  War  Lord;  he  wore  the  gorgeous  gold-laced 
uniform  of  an  Hungarian  hussar;  he  wore  high,  glossy 
patent-leather  boots,  reaching  midleg  high  on  his 
beautiful  blue  gold-striped  tights;  long  lashes  shaded 
his  fine  eyes,  with  which  he  darted  the  most  killing 
glances  to  left  and  right,  inflaming  feminine  hearts. 

I  have  long  been  observant  of  the  fascination  exer- 
cised by  European  army  officers  over  American  women. 
I  do  not  wonder  at  it.  Only  think  of  those  gorgeous 
white-coated  Austrian  officers;  just  fancy  the  corps 
tfilite  of  the  French,  German,  and  Italian  armies  —  is 
it  matter  of  wonder  that  our  countrywomen  admire 
them?  When  these  sons  of  Mars  are  compared  with 
the  lean,  or  globulous,  or  stoop  shouldered,  tired,  worn- 
out,  middle-aged  American  business  man,  he  suffers  in 
the  comparison.  The  American  is  a  fond  husband,  a 
doting  father,  a  good  provider,  but  he  is  not  nearly  so 
pretty  as  the  European  army  officer.  Fortunately  for 
him,  he  stays  "tew  hum,"  makes  the  money,  and  sends 
his  wife  abroad  to  spend  it,  so  that  he  never  knows  of 
the  comparisons  that  even  the  best  wife  must  make 
between  him  and  them. 

My  omission  of  the  British  officers  in  the  above  list  is 
not  accidental.  It  is  designed.  Not  that  the  gentlemen 
who  wear  King  Edward's  coat  are  lacking  in  manly 
beauty.  Far  from  it.  To  my  thinking,  there  are  as 
handsome  men  in  England  as  any  in  the  western  world. 

[267] 


Cairo's  Routes  and  Inns 

But  English  officers  affect  mufti,  and  are  rarely  seen 
in  uniform  when  off  duty.  Thus  they  lose  the  adven- 
titious aid  which  buttons,  brass,  and  feathers  give  the 
soldier  over  the  civilian.  Therefore  our  American 
women  gaze  on  them  calm-eyed  —  not  as  they  gaze  on 
the  gorgeous  jack-booted  gentry  of  the  Continent,  in 
tin  cuirasses  and  pot-metal  helmets.  Yet  the  officers  of 
the  Guards  in  London  —  Coldstream,  or  Horse,  or  Blue 
—  when  decked  for  action,  are  easily  worth  a  shilling  to 
look  at  —  which  it  sometimes  costs  the  hurried  tourist 
to  be  shown  the  way  to  the  'Orse  Guards  by  an  accom- 
modating person  who  would  like  to  drink  his  'ealth. 

A  shilling,  by  the  way,  is  the  rumored  rate  charged 
by  a  foot-guardsman  for  walking  with  a  servant-maid 
on  a  Sunday;  a  mounted  guardsman  charges  the  slavey 
eighteen  pence. 

Here,  too,  buttons  and  brass  wrought  their  fatal 
fascination.  The  hysterical  Hungarian  fiddler  had 
his  head  completely  turned  by  the  open  admiration  of 
a  number  of  young  American  women  belonging  to  a 
large  steamship-excursion.  They  gathered  in  front 
of  his  band-stand;  they  gazed  up  into  his  fine  eyes;  they 
applauded  ecstatically;  they  made  him  yield  to  so  many 
encores  that  his  band  —  old,  fat,  bald-headed,  and 
probably  married  —  grumbled  audibly.  Still,  he  was 
determined  to  please  the  young  American  frauleins,  and 
he  did.  But  the  poor  devil  almost  dislocated  his  cer- 
vical vertebrae  in  attempting  to  bow  to  his  victims  in 
the  midst  of  a  fortissimo  czardas  with  his  fiddle  stuck 
into  his  neck. 

[268] 


Boots,  Brassy  and  Feathers 

Bowing  with  his  head  —  bowing  with  his  fiddle-bow 
—  scraping  with  his  feet  —  scraping  on  his  fiddle  — 
bowing  and  scraping,  scraping  and  bowing:  verily,  the 
poor  fiddler  worked  hard  for  our  countrywomen's 
smiles.  As  for  them,  their  frank  admiration  for  the 
bedizened  fiddler  —  not  for  his  fiddling  —  reminded 
me  much  of  the  poor  London  scullions  who  save  up 
their  'apennies  all  week  to  walk  with  a  gold-laced  sol- 
dier of  a  Sunday. 


It  is  only  fair  to  add  to  my  remarks  on  the  Famous 
Caravansary  that  I  had  stopped  there  some  years  ago, 
and  found  the  cookery  and  service  excellent.  When  I 
found  it  so  bad,  it  was  run  by  a  Belgian  company.  In 
the  winter  of  1905  the  Belgian  company  relinquished 
its  management,  and  it  is  now  run  by  a  local  syndicate 
made  up  of  Cairo  capitalists.  It  may  have  improved 
under  the  new  management.  Very  likely  it  has  —  the 
other  hotels  run  by  Cairo  capitalists  are  excellent.  The 
shares  of  stock  in  these  hotel  syndicates,  by  the  way, 
are  daily  quoted  on  the  Cairo  Bourse,  and  pay  large 
dividends.  They  pay  so  well  that  three  large  hotels 
are  now  in  process  of  erection.  Two  of  them  are  to  be 
on  the  river  —  oddly  enough,  not  a  hotel  in  Cairo  has 
yet  been  built  on  the  Nile.  It  seems  strange  that  these 
gigantic  structures  should  pay  so  well  when  they  are 
empty  more  than  half  the  year.  Yet  such  is  the  case 
—  the  first  guests  arrive  about  the  middle  of  November, 
the  last  leave  about  the  middle  or  end  of  April. 

[269] 


XVI 

THE  MIDWINTER  CRUSH 
AT   CAIRO 


The  Midwinter  Crush  at  Cairo 

Toward  Egypt,  as  the  winter  waxes,  wayfarers  flock 
from  all  over  the  world.  From  Egypt,  as  the  winter 
wanes,  they  fly  back  again,  much  like  birds  of  passage. 
At  the  beginning  of  the  winter,  Cairo  is  empty.  As 
the  weather  in  Europe  gets  worse,  Cairo  grows  full; 
later,  Cairo  is  jammed.  Then  the  great  crowd  pours 
up  the  river;  trains,  tourist  steamers,  express  steamers 
—  everything  is  packed.  Upper  Egypt  then  becomes 
congested  and  Cairo  much  less  crowded,  except  for  a 
few  days  at  a  time,  when  excursion  steamers  arrive. 
As  the  winter  wanes,  the  crowd  pours  down  the  river 
once  more,  and  again  Cairo  becomes  crowded.  For  a 
few  weeks  all  the  Cairo  hotels  are  full;  then  the  out- 
going steamships  leave,  with  every  cabin  crowded,  and 
through  the  great  hotels  of  Cairo  stalk  brass-bound 
porters  and  swallow-tailed  head-waiters,  their  footfalls 
echoing  loudly  through  the  empty  halls  and  lounges. 

At  the  beginning  and  at  the  end  of  this  great  hegira, 
one  may  observe  in  Cairo  scores  of  the  world's  notable 
personages;  it  is  only  at  these  periods  that  they  are 
numerous,  for  on  arriving  at  Cairo  they  scatter  all  over 
Egypt,  and  on  returning  they  scatter  all  over  the  world. 
There  are  among  them  representatives  of  all  countries. 
During  the  season  of  1905  there  were  in  Egypt  mem- 
bers of  the  imperial  or  royal  families  of  Great  Britain, 
Germany,  Russia,  Sweden,  Austria-Hungary,  Saxony, 
Wurtemburg,  Baden,  Italy,  and  Greece,  together  with 
diplomatic,  literary,  and  dramatic  notables,  and  hun- 
dreds of  ordinary  persons  of  title.  On  the  Nile  one 
sees  the  flag  of  nearly  every  nation  fluttering  from  the 


Royalties  and  Notables 

peaks  of  dahabiyehs,  and  the  identity  of  the  charterers 
of  these  private  boats,  steam  or  sail,  is  often  patent  by 
the  yacht-club  burgees  and  private  yachting  signals 
which  often  may  be  seen  flying  with  the  foreign  flags. 

In  addition  to  the  imperial  and  royal  personages, 
there  are  some  of  the  sort  whom  Alphonse  Daudet  so 
happily  dubbed  "Kings  in  Exile."  One  of  the  most 
notable  of  these  was  the  lady  travelling  incognito  as 
Countess  of  Pierrefonds,  otherwise  Euge'nie,  some- 
time Empress  of  the  French. 

The  presence  of  the  ex- Empress  in  Egypt  during  the 
season  of  1905  brought  forth  interesting  recollections 
from  many  old  residents  in  Egypt.  In  conversation 
with  one  of  the  Anglo-Egyptian  department  heads,  he 
narrated  some  of  the  tales  which  have  come  down  from 
the  time  of  Khedive  Ismail.  Lord  Houghton's  account 
of  the  great  festivals  given  by  the  Khedive  at  the  time 
of  the  Suez  Canal  celebration  in  1869  is  a  graphic  one. 
In  all  these  f£tes  Euge'nie  was  the  central  figure.  She 
came  to  Egypt  in  an  imperial  yacht,  escorted  by  French 
ships  of  war.  For  her  arrival  every  one  waited.  She 
was  the  only  imperial  or  royal  lady,  by  the  way,  who 
accepted  the  Khedive's  invitation  to  the  celebration. 
More  than  once  my  informant  saw  her  surrounded  by 
a  brilliant  circle  of  royalties,  including  the  present 
Emperor  of  Austria,  the  Crown  Prince  of  Prussia,  and 
other  royal  personages. 

What  great  changes  have  taken  place  in  these  thirty 
years!  Khedive  Ismail  fell  from  power,  was  forced  to 
abdicate,  and  became  a  Mohammedan  wanderer  in 

[275] 


The  Midwinter  Crush  at  Cairo 

Christian  lands.  At  last  he  took  up  his  residence  in  a 
palace  on  the  Bosphorus  as  a  guest  of  his  suzerain, 
the  Sultan.  There  he  died  mysteriously,  the  gossips 
of  the  Stamboul  bazaars  whispering  that  he  was  poi- 
soned by  order  of  the  Padishah.  The  Austrian  Em- 
peror's beautiful  consort,  Elizabeth,  is  dead,  foully 
murdered  in  Switzerland  by  a  fanatic  assassin.  His 
dashing  son  Rudolph  is  dead,  either  the  victim  of  a 
mysterious  assassin  or  of  a  more  mysterious  self-murder. 
The  Crown  Prince  of  Prussia  is  dead,  victim  of  an 
incurable  and  loathsome  malady,  after  having  been 
Emperor  for  but  a  few  weeks.  Of  that  brilliant  circle 
nearly  all  are  gone  into  the  other  world.  Eugenie's 
husband  and  her  son  are  dead,  and  she  is  left  old 
and  alone. 

At  that  time  her  slightest  wish  was  law.  When  the 
Egyptian  ministers  learned,  in  advance  of  her  coming, 
that  she  wished  to  visit  the  Pyramids,  the  Khedive 
ordered  a  carriage-road  to  be  constructed  from  Cairo 
to  Cheops.  It  was  done  by  forced  labor.  The  mudir 
of  the  district  ordered  all  able-bodied  males  to  report 
for  duty,  and  they  constructed  the  present  fine  road 
without  food  or  wage,  not  even  being  given  tools.  Most 
of  them  dug  up  the  sand  with  their  hands,  and  carried 
it  on  their  backs  in  cloths  or  baskets.  A  magnificent 
palace  sprung  up  on  an  island  in  the  Nile,  in  which  to 
house  the  beautiful  Empress  —  a  palace  which  is  now 
turned  into  the  Ghezireh  Hotel.  There  was  nothing 
that  Oriental  munificence  and  Khedivial  pomp  could 
not  do  for  the  French  Empress.  Eugenie  was  then 

[276] 


I 


Eugenie  in  Her  Zenith 

at  the  very  zenith  of  her  womanly  beauty,  her  conjugal 
pride,  and  her  imperial  splendor.  Yet  all  this  pre- 
ceded by  only  a  few  short  months  the  Franco-Prussian 
War,  when  her  gilded  empire  fell  like  a  house  of  cards. 

The  fall  of  Eugdnie  is  a  striking  commentary  on  the 
evanescence  of  human  grandeur.  Not  a  trace  of  her 
remains  in  Paris  —  not  a  name,  not  an  imperial  cipher, 
not  even  an  initial.  The  haughty  title,  "Avenue  of 
the  Empress,"  was  changed  by  the  Government  of  the 
Fourth  September  to  the  bourgeois  name,  "Avenue 
Uhrich."  I  know  of  but  two  places  in  all  France  where 
her  name  endures  —  two  little  watering-places  — 
Biarritz  and  Trouville. 

Biarritz  is  indissolubly  connected  with  Eugenie. 
Wherever  you  go,  you  hear  her  name.  You  pass  by  a 
picturesque  cliff  jutting  over  the  sea  —  it  was  she  who 
christened  it.  You  drive  through  a  forest  of  young 
pines  —  they  were  planted  by  Eugenie's  order.  It  was 
she  who  practically  created  Biarritz.  Out  of  an  obscure 
fishing- village,  she  made  it  a  fashionable  watering-place. 
It  was  entirely  her  personal  influence  and  the  prestige 
of  her  name  which  made  Biarritz  what  it  is.  It  is 
difficult  to  realize  to-day  how  great  that  influence,  how 
overpowering  that  prestige  was.  In  addition  to  her 
beauty,  Eugenie  must  have  had  some  traits  of  character 
to  make  her  the  power  that  she  was  —  social,  imperial, 
political.  The  daughter  of  a  doubtful  Spanish  grandee; 
the  bait  of  an  angling  mother;  her  beauty  hawked  from 
court  to  court  of  Europe;  "her  cradle  a  travelling 
trunk,  her  boarding-school  a  table  d'hdte"',  her  hus- 

[277] 


The  Midwinter  Crush  at  Cairo 

band's  paternity  so  doubtful  that  Louis  Bonaparte, 
his  putative  father,  probably  never  knew  who  the 
pseudo-son's  real  father  was;  this  husband  a  tinsel 
emperor  as  she  was  a  parvenue  empress  —  that  with 
all  these  skeletons  in  the  imperial  closet  Eugenie  should 
have  made  herself  the  first  lady  in  the  world,  first  in 
personal  beauty,  first  in  imperial  splendor,  first  in 
personal  prestige;  the  warm  friend  of  a  queen  noted 
for  her  domestic  virtues,  and  lineal  descendant  of  a 
long  line  of  English  kings;  the  arbiter  of  fashions;  the 
maker  or  unmaker  of  kings,  as  in  the  case  of  the  Hohen- 
zollern  candidate  for  the  throne  of  Spain  and  of  Ama- 
deus  of  Savoy;  the  inciter  of  war,  for  the  bloody  cam- 
paign of  1870  was  brought  about  by  her  —  that  Eugenie, 
once  simply  Sefiora  de  Montijo,  should  have  reached 
such  a  lofty  pinnacle  shows  the  ups  and  downs  of  human 
life. 

And  its  vicissitudes  are  further  shown  by  her  condi- 
tion to-day.  While  at  Biarritz  twoscore  years  ago, 
she  reigned  supreme,  youthful,  beautiful,  an  empress, 
a  mother,  a  wife;  to-day  she  is  old,  broken,  alone.  Her 
husband  laid  down  his  sceptre  when  he  surrendered 
his  sword  at  Sedan;  with  the  fall  of  his  dynasty  he 
yielded  to  melancholy  and  insidious  disease,  and  died 
on  the  operating-table  under  the  surgeon's  knife.  Her 
only  son  perished  in  a  quarrel  not  his  own,  in  far-away 
Africa,  hacked  to  death  by  the  assegais  of  savages  who 
knew  not  who  he  was  nor  why  he  warred  against  them. 
To-day,  with  a  handful  of  devoted  attendants  instead 
of  a  brilliant  court,  white-haired,  wasted,  wan,  bent 


The  Ex-Empress  Now 

double  with  years,  hobbling  with  a  crutch,  one  can 
scarcely  believe  that  the  decrepit  old  lady  who  calls 
herself  "the  Countess  of  Pierrefonds"  was  once  the 
beautiful,  fortune-favored  Eugenie,  empress  of  the 
French. 

How  changed,  too,  the  conditions  of  her  Egyptian 
visit  after  thirty  years!  When  this  whilom  imperial 
lady  revisited  the  scene  of  her  former  triumphs  there 
were  with  her  no  royalties,  no  dazzling  imperial  suite. 
Two  young  ladies  accompanied  her,  her  secretary,  and 
the  son  of  a  former  imperial  court  official  —  that  was 
all.  More  than  once  we  saw  the  white-haired  old  lady 
clad  in  quiet  black,  bent,  and  sometimes  walking  with 
a  cane.  We  saw  her  in  Upper  Egypt,  whither  she  had 
gone,  making  the  ascent  of  the  Nile  in  a  dahabiyeh  with 
her  small  suite  of  faithful  followers.  We  saw  her  again 
in  Cairo  at  the  Savoy  Hotel,  where  she  was  domiciled 
just  prior  to  sailing  for  her  home  on  the  Riviera  at  Cap 
Martin.  It  was  a  melancholy  yet  a  touching  spectacle 
to  see  this  old  lady  on  her  way  to  the  dining-hall,  fol- 
lowed by  her  suite.  It  was  the  custom  of  the  guests 
to  draw  up  in  two  lines  on  either  side  of  the  corridor 
and  salute  her  respectfully  on  her  way.  She  returned 
these  salutes  most  punctiliously.  It  was  a  kindly 
courtesy  on  the  part  of  the  guests,  and  I  did  not  set  it 
down  to  snobbishness,  for  I  have  noticed  that  much 
less  attention  seems  to  be  paid  to  titles  abroad  than  in 
America,  and  none  at  all  to  royalties  incognito.  But 
it  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  guests  of  the  hotel  were  moved 
more  by  a  sympathetic  feeling  toward  a  stricken  lady 

[279] 


The  Midwinter  Crush  at  Cairo 

—  old,  widowed,  and  alone  —  than  toward  one  who 
once  had  been  an  empress. 


There  were  a  number  of  interesting  notabilities  in 
Cairo  toward  the  end  of  the  winter,  and  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  to  me  was  Sir  Rudolph  Von  Slatin  Pasha. 
Those  who  have  read  his  book,  "Fire  and  Sword  in 
the  Soudan,"  will  remember  the  extraordinary  hard- 
ships that  he  suffered  during  his  fourteen  years'  im- 
prisonment; the  mental  torture  to  which  he  was  ex- 
posed under  both  the  Mahdi  and  the  Khalifa ;  the  traps 
which  were  set  for  him  almost  daily,  which,  less  warily 
watched,  would  have  led  to  his  death,  or  what  is  worse, 
to  torture;  the  hard  and  scanty  fare  and  degrading 
tasks  which  were  imposed  upon  him;  the  humiliating 
ordeal  of  becoming  a  convert  to  Mohammedanism; 
the  hideous  negresses  and  other  unpleasant  wives  gra- 
ciously given  him  by  his 'sardonic  master;  his  increasing 
distrust  lest  those  around  him  should  be  his  master's 
spies  —  which  many  of  them  were;  and  finally  the 
difficult  and  dangerous  negotiations  with  the  outer 
world,  which  led  to  his  escape  across  the  desert  with 
an  escort  on  swift  camels,  pursued  by  the  bloodthirsty 
dervishes,  until  finally  he  dismounted  in  safety  under 
the  British  flag  at  Assouan. 

There  was  a  large  dinner-party  at  the  Savoy  one  even- 
ing, at  which  there  were  many  diplomats  and  Egyp- 
tian notabilities.  Among  them,  I  was  told,  was  Slatin 
Pasha.  I  looked  eagerly  around  me  to  see  if  I  could 


I 

G 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


Youthful  Slatin  Pasha 

detect  this  modern  victim  of  the  dungeon.  Finally  I 
picked  out  Slatin  —  a  military-looking  man,  seemingly 
about  sixty,  with  white  hair,  a  close-cropped  white 
mustache,  a  stern  and  haggard  face  with  weary  eyes. 
But  when  I  asked  an  acquaintance  he  laughed  and 
told  me  I  was  wrong. 

"There  is  Slatin  Pasha,"  said  he. 

I  turned.  Near  me  stood  a  handsome,  red-cheeked 
man  of  apparently  less  than  forty,  with  brown  hair,  a 
long  blond  mustache,  bright  eyes,  perfect  teeth;  his 
face  lighted  up  with  animation  as  he  talked.  He  was 
clad  in  a  brilliant  uniform,  and  his  breast  was  covered 
with  orders.  Little  did  he  look  like  a  survivor  of  hair- 
breadth 'scapes  by  flood  and  field.  Not  his  the  dun- 
geon victim's  face,  seamed  with  wrinkles,  circled  with 
premature  white  hairs.  If  he  looked  like  any  famous 
fugitive,  his  handsome  face  and  long  blond  mustaches 
would  make  my  ideal  of  Blondel,  the  loyal  troubadour 
who  shared  his  royal  master's  misfortunes  as  he  and 
England's  Crusader  King  fared  back  to  Albion  from 
the  Holy  Land  after  the  astute  minstrel  had  opened 
the  doors  of  an  Austrian  dungeon  to  Richard  of  the 
Lion  Heart. 

I  gazed  at  Slatin  in  wonder.  That  any  man  could 
go  through  what  he  suffered,  and  still  show  no  signs  of 
mental  or  physical  strain,  was  beyond  my  ken.  Many 
an  American  business  man,  a  Chicago  pork-packer,  a 
Pennsylvania  coal  baron,  or  a  New  York  political  boss, 
shows  more  signs  of  stress  and  strain  at  forty  than  Slatin 
Pasha  does  at  fifty.  And  yet  for  twenty  years  of  his 

[281] 


XVII 

EGYPTIAN  JOURNALISM 

'F  the  newspapers  of  Egypt,  it  may  be  said 
that  they  seem  to  be  mainly  notable  for 
what  they  do  not  contain.  For  example: 
The  great  Mohammedan  institution  of 
learning  is  the  University  of  El-Azhar  at  Cairo.  Here 
come  Moslem  students  from  Tangier  to  Singapore, 
from  Stamboul  to  Dongola,  from  hither  and  from 
farther  Ind.  There  are  sects  in  Mohammedanism; 
the  Persians,  for  example,  belong  to  the  Shiite  branch, 
and  even  that  was  partly  split  off  into  Sufites.  There 
are  four  sects  in  Islam  which  differ  slightly.  But  I  had 
supposed  that  their  differences  were  purely  academical. 
This  belief  grew  upon  me  from  the  contempt  expressed 
by  the  Mohammedans  for  the  bloody  fights  of  the  brawl- 
ing Greek  and  Latin  monks  at  Jerusalem.  Secretly  I 
had  writhed  under  this  contempt.  The  very  looks  of 
the  Turkish  military  officers,  seated  smoking  on  their 
divan  within  the  door  of  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepul- 
chre at  Jerusalem,  are  looks  of  contempt  for  all  who 
can  believe  in  the  same  creed  as  these  brawling  monks. 
Therefore,  when  I  was  in  Cairo  in  1905,  I  was  much 

[285] 


Egyptian  Journalism 

gratified  to  hear  that  there  was  often  trouble  in  the 
University  of  El-Azhar.  The  pious  person  who  pre- 
sides over  El-Azhar  —  and  who  fills  about  the  same 
office  as  our  college  presidents  —  found  the  dogmatic 
nut  too  hard  for  him  to  crack,  so  he  "passed  it  up"  to 
the  Khedive. 

The  Khedive  took  the  matter  under  advisement,  and 
finally  issued  a  proclamation  to  the  students,  of  whom 
there  are  many  thousands.  He  told  them  that  their 
quarrels  caused  great  scandal  among  all  true  believers, 
and  that  these  dissensions  must  cease.  However,  in 
order  to  see  that  his  decrees  were  carried  out,  he  pru- 
dently ordered  a  strong,  high  wall  to  be  erected  between 
the  domain  of  the  Syrian  students  and  those  next  to 
them,  who  happened,  I  believe,  to  come  from  Tripoli. 
It  seems  that  the  Syrians  could  not  get  along  with  any 
students,  but  they  were  particularly  prone  to  take  a 
fall  out  of  the  Tripolitans. 

In  the  Egyptian  newspapers  I  saw  no  mention  made 
of  these  dogmatic  disturbances  in  the  heart  of  El  Islam. 

The  Khedive  has  not  only  dogmatic  but  domestic 
troubles,  although  he  is  reputed  to  have  but  one  wife. 
While  Great  Britain  kindly  relieves  him  of  most  of  the 
practical  details  of  government,  the  remaining  social, 
family,  and  ecclesiastical  details  are  enough  to  keep 
him  busy.  For  example,  in  December,  1904,  an  aged 
pasha  died,  leaving  a  fortune  of  many  millions  acquired 
in  slave-dealing.  He  left  but  one  heir,  a  son,  who  had 
been  imprisoned  for  life  as  a  punishment  for  treason. 
During  all  of  our  stay  his  friends  were  moving  heaven 

[286] 


A  Plethora  of  Princes 

and  earth  to  get  the  Khedive  to  pardon  him  that  he 
might  enjoy  his  large  estate.  If  this  were  not  done, 
it  seems,  the  estate  would  escheat  to  the  Khedive. 
What  an  extremely  embarrassing  dilemma!  To  be 
forced  to  choose  between  a  fortune  of  millions  on  one 
hand,  and,  on  the  other,  an  altruistic  act  of  mercy  to  a 
man  who  had  attempted  to  destroy  your  dynasty. 

Concerning  this  Khedivial  dilemma,  such  Egyptian 
journals  as  I  saw  preserved  a  discreet  silence. 

Apropos  of  dynasties,  one  of  the  questions  which 
greatly  bothers  the  Khedive  is  dynastic.  There  is  a 
horde  of  princes  in  the  Khedivial  family.  Every  male 
child  of  his  grand-uncles,  uncles,  brothers,  nephews, 
and  nieces  was  immediately  on  his  birth  styled  "prince." 
As  a  result,  the  number  of  Khedivial  princes  in  Egypt 
is  so  large  that  it  is  ludicrous.  The  Khedive  saw  that 
it  was  necessary  to  call  a  halt.  Still,  the  Khedivial 
princesses  were  extremely  fertile,  and  the  output  of 
princes  could  scarcely  be  checked.  But  their  titles 
might.  So  a  decree  was  issued  declaring  that  the  title 
of  prince  could  only  be  considered  valid  with  princes 
in  being;  that  any  child  born  to  any  member  of  the 
Khedivial  family  after  the  date  of  the  decree  should 
be  a  plain  Egyptian  and  no  prince.  No  sooner  was  the 
decree  issued  than  there  was  a  howl.  Uncles  and 
aunts,  brothers  and  sisters,  nephews  and  nieces,  has- 
tened to  pour  their  troubles  into  the  Khedivial  ear. 
Ladies  who  had  fondly  loved  their  lords  sent  word  that 
it  would  be  a  bit  of  rank  injustice  to  the  coming  little 
stranger  to  bar  him  when  he  was  only  six  weeks  behind 


Egyptian  Journalism 

the  decree.  Such  was  the  number  of  unborn  infants 
to  whom  his  decree  did  foul  wrong  that  the  Khedive 
was  induced  to  modify  it.  He  extended  the  time-limit 
on  the  ladies,  making  it,  if  I  remember  correctly,  five 
years.  After  that  time  no  more  princes  —  that  is,  of 
course,  outside  of  certain  specified  members  of  the 
family,  such  as  the  brothers  of  the  sovereign. 

Touching  these  domestic  and  dynastic  complications, 
the  Egyptian  press  was  again  dumb. 

On  the  whole,  the  newspapers  of  Egypt  are  not  very 
daring  sheets.  Possibly  their  birth  and  growth  may 
have  something  to  do  with  this  timidity.  Most  Ameri- 
can newspapers,  like  Topsy,  "jest  growed";  the  Egyp- 
tian newspapers  seem  to  have  been  born  in  financial 
incubators,  and  subsequently  to  have  been  "brought 
up  by  hand."  During  the  winter  of  1905,  the  death 
of  Halikalis  Pasha,  founder  of  Le  Phare  d'Alexandrie, 
brought  forth  in  the  Egyptian  journals  some  columns 
of  reminiscences  concerning  the  deceased  editor,  all  of 
the  most  kindly  nature.  They  all  agreed  on  one  point: 
that  Halikalis  Pasha  had  founded  his  paper  simply  and 
solely  because  Khedive  Ismail  paid  him  for  that  pur- 
pose an  annual  subsidy  of  £7,000.  There  was  no  savor 
of  satire  in  the  comment  —  it  had  perhaps  a  slight  tinge 
of  envy,  that  was  all.  Evidently,  in  the  opinion  of  the 
scribes  of  Egypt,  the  jingling  of  the  guineas  healed  the 
hurt  honor  of  Halikalis  Pasha.  This  subsidy  he  re- 
ceived for  many  years.  But  when  the  influence  of  the 
deposed  Khedive  became  as  naught,  Halikalis  Pasha 
was  told  that  he  would  have  to  publish  his  paper  with- 

[288] 


An  Unsubsidized  Editor 

out  a  subsidy.  Confronted  with  this  dreadful  lot  — 
menaced  with  the  terrible  task  of  meeting  his  expendi- 
tures with  his  receipts,  what  did  Halikalis  Pasha  do? 

He  ran  his  paper  straight.  In  short,  he  published 
it  unsubsidized.  Probably  this  was  the  first  time  the 
feat  had  ever  been  attempted  in  Egypt. 

The  other  journals  looked  on  with  awe  and  admira- 
tion. All  of  the  editorial  fraternity  expressed  the  high- 
est admiration  for  his  nerve  and  pluck.  One  paper 
remarked  that  he  "lost  several  thousand  pounds  the 
first  year."  In  fact,  all  spoke  of  Halikalis  Pasha's 
continuing  to  run  an  old-established  journal  after  the 
cessation  of  its  subsidy  in  the  same  tone  of  admiring 
deprecation  that  we  in  America  would  adopt  in  speaking 
of  the  demented  editor  who  would  attempt  to  publish 
a  religious  and  temperance  daily  in  any  large  American 
city. 

With  these  traditions  clinging  to  the  Egyptian  press, 
it  is  easy  to  understand  that  the  Egyptian  editors  speak 
rather  guardedly,  not  only  of  persons  in  power,  but  of 
the  great  hotel  syndicates  and  of  the  rich  shopkeepers. 
Their  caution  is  so  extreme,  however,  that  at  times  it 
becomes  very  droll.  They  are  cautious  in  writing  even 
about  the  weather,  that  non-committal  topic  so  dear  to 
us  all;  for  in  Egypt  it  is  possible  for  a  newspaper  to 
injure  itself  with  the  great  hotel  syndicates  and  the  rich 
shopkeepers  by  talking  too  freely  about  the  weather 
when  it  is  bad.  In  Egypt  the  weather  during  the  winter 
of  1905  was  by  no  means  all  that  the  tourists'  fancy 
painted  it. 

[289] 


Egyptian  Journalism 

It  is  not  only  concerning  subsidies  that  the  Egyptian 
newspapers,  from  the  American  newspaper  point  of 
view,  seem  rather  odd.  I  am  speaking  only  of  those 
printed  in  English  and  French;  there  are  many  journals 
printed  in  Arabic,  but  I  know  nothing  of  them.  The 
newspapers  published  in  European  languages  are 
mainly  remarkable  for  excluding  anything  that  could 
offend  anybody.  Not  only  do  they  taboo  the  weather, 
but  other  topics  as  well.  As  they  depend  largely  for 
their  income  on  the  advertisements  of  a  limited  number 
of  large  hotel  companies  and  business  houses,  they 
naturally  find  it  inexpedient  to  print  any  unpleasant 
news  concerning  them.  Therefore  they  adopt  the 
simple  method  of  printing  disagreeable  personal  news 
in  a  cryptic  fashion  without  any  names.  Here  is  a 
sample  item: 

MELANCHOLY  DEATH  —  Yesterday  afternoon  a  clerk,  who  is  very 
well  known,  and  in  the  employ  of  a  prominent  merchant,  committed 
suicide  in  the  merchant's  office  by  blowing  out  his  brains  with  a 
revolver.  His  face  was  much  disfigured. 

It  would  be  difficult  for  the  most  sensitive  person  to 
find  fault  with  that.  Here  is  another  in  the  same  style: 

PAINFUL  AFFAIR  —  A  gentleman  prominent  in  the  Italian  colony 
discovered  recently  painful  facts  concerning  the  relations  of  his  wife 
with  a  gentleman  friend.  Circumstances  rendered  it  impossible  for 
him  to  demand  that  satisfaction  on  the  field  of  honor  which  is  cus- 
tomary among  gentlemen  in  such  cases.  He  has  therefore  brought 
suit  for  a  separation  in  the  Italian  consular  court.  The  co-respondent 
is  an  equally  prominent  Greek  gentleman,  a  member  of  the  Hellenic 
magistrature. 

[290] 


Newspaper  Reserve 

This  case,  however,  assumed  such  magnitude  in  the 
courts  that  the  newspapers  were  forced  to  break  through 
their  barriers  of  reserve  and  satisfy  their  shocked  sub- 
scribers' demand  for  the  disgusting  details.  One  of 
them  shrouded  the  " painful  affair"  as  much  as  pos- 
sible by  printing  the  testimony  in  Italian,  although 
the  rest  of  the  newspaper  was  usually  printed  in 
English. 

This  reserve  over  the  peccadilloes  of  those  in  high 
station  is,  of  course,  not  followed  by  the  papers  in  dis- 
cussing the  misdoings  of  the  lowly.  But  the  editorial 
habit  is  hard  to  lay  aside,  and  the  crim.  con.  cases  of 
the  populace  are  told  with  a  brevity  which  is  startling. 
The  following  paragraphs  (grouped  under  "Tantah 
Notes")  from  a  Cairo  paper  are  certainly  remarkable: 

TANTAH  NOTES  —  At  Tantah  yesterday,  George  Kantikopoulous 
returned  home  unexpectedly  to  his  wife  and  her  paramour,  and 
chopped  both  their  heads  off  with  an  axe. 

The  Tantah  authorities  are  enforcing  the  code  of  contraventions 
against  natives  who  defile  the  streets. 

After  next  Wednesday  at  Tantah  ownerless  dogs  will  be  shot  by 
the  police. 

The  same  brevity  is  extended  to  items  not  in  the  line 
of  conjugal  revenge,  such  as  the  following: 

MURDER  AND  ROBBERY  —  Madame  Galli  and  Madame  Benetti 
were  murdered  by  five  ruffians  night  before  last  at  Zagazig.  The 
object  was  plunder.  The  murderers  were  arrested. 

Here  is  an  excellent  five-column  story  for  an  Ameri- 
can daily  told  in  five  lines: 

[291] 


Egyptian  Journalism 

GIRL'S  BODY  FOUND  —  Yesterday  the  body  of  a  young  native  girl, 
daughter  of  Hassan  AH,  was  found  floating  in  the  Mahmoudieh  Canal. 
Her  parents  say  it  was  not  suicide,  as  her  rings  had  been  torn  from 
her  ears. 

The  arrival  of  the  famous  squadron,  whose  cruise 
began  in  the  Baltic,  became  famous  on  the  Dogger 
Bank,  and  ended  fathoms  deep  in  the  Sea  of  Japan, 
is  thus  briefly  chronicled: 

RUSSIAN  FLEET  —  The  division  of  the  Baltic  fleet  commanded 
by  Admiral  Botrousky  arrived  at  Port  Said  yesterday  afternoon  at 
two  o'clock,  and  leaves  this  morning. 

A  fire  in  the  largest  mercantile  house  in  Egypt  is 
thus  set  down: 

BIG  FIRE  —  The  enormous  Walker-Meimarchi  stores  were  de- 
stroyed by  fire  yesterday.  Two  firemen  were  killed  and  many  injured. 
Loss  £50,000. 

Imagine  an  American  daily  devoting  a  few  lines  only 
to  a  fatal  fire  involving  the  loss  of  a  quarter  of  a  million 
dollars.  Really,  Egypt  is  not  the  place  for  a  hustling 
American  city  editor  to  visit  for  a  rest.  To  read  such 
items  as  these,  and  to  think  of  the  columns  of  "stories" 
and  the  acres  of  pictures  they  would  make  in  America, 
would  drive  such  an  editor  into  a  highly  nervous  con- 
dition. 

But  let  us  present  a  few  more  of  these  startling  items 
told  in  this  matter-of-fact  way: 

THE  MECCA  PILGRIMS  —  Over  three  thousand  persons  have  ar- 
rived since  Wednesday  from  Algiers,  Morocco,  and  Stamboul,  en 

[292] 


Mild  Paragraphs 

route  to  Mecca.  Near  Djeddah  the  last  lot  of  pilgrims  found  a  for- 
midable force  of  Bedouins  awaiting  them  for  plunder.  After  the 
fight  the  pilgrims  withdrew,  leaving  fifty-two  of  their  number  dead 
on  the  field. 

The  mild  paragraph  which  follows  is  calculated  to 
give  travellers  pause: 

ANNOYANCES  TO  TOURISTS  —  A  party  of  twenty  tourists  went  to 
Sakhara  on  Monday.  The  guardian  of  the  ruins  refused  to  recog- 
nize their  tickets  of  admission.  A  heated  debate  followed,  which 
was  adjourned  to  Mariette's  house.  No  satisfaction  followed.  On 
emerging,  the  tourists  found  a  horde  of  threatening  Arabs  awaiting 
them.  Their  donkey  and  camel-drivers  remained  neutral,  and  the 
tourists  fled  amid  a  shower  of  stones.  Some  were  seriously  injured. 
The  tourists  were  much  annoyed. 

This  will  interest  students  of  vital  statistics: 

INFANT  MORTALITY  —  From  the  report  of  Dr.  Engel  Bey  we 
learn  that  the  percentage  of  total  deaths  in  Egypt  of  native  children 
under  five  is  forty-five  per  cent.;  between  five  and  ten,  thirty-two  per 
cent.;  total  under  ten  years  of  age,  seventy-seven  per  cent. 

That  three  fourths  of  all  the  deaths  in  Egypt  should 
be  of  children  under  ten  years  does  not  seem  to  disturb 
anybody.  But  let  us  turn  to  more  exciting  themes: 

MURDER  AND  SUICIDE — A  Russian  living  in  the  Atbarin  quarter 
shot  his  wife  with  a  revolver,  and  afterward  turned  the  weapon  on 
himself,  blowing  out  his  brains. 

That  tourists  should  take  pot-shots  at  natives  seems 
to  cause  but  little  surprise: 

SHOT  BY  TOURISTS  —  The  Mudir  of  Ghizeh  reports  to  the  ministry 
of  the  interior  that  two  American  tourists  on  their  way  down  the  river, 
shooting  at  birds  from  a  steamer,  shot  an  inhabitant  of  Half,  who 
has  since  died. 

[293] 


Egyptian  Journalism 

Here  is  another  ill-mated  husband  who  settles  dis- 
putes with  murder: 

KILLED  His  WIFE  —  A  public  scrivener,  a  native,  living  at  Ga- 
barri,  had  a  conjugal  discussion  with  his  wife,  which  ended  by  his 
striking  her  over  the  head  with  an  iron  bar,  killing  her  instantly.  He 
fled,  and  has  not  been  arrested. 

The  incidental  way  in  which  the  robbery  of  $40,000 
is  just  alluded  to  at  the  end  of  this  paragraph  is  alto- 
gether delicious: 

The  Mahmal  [Holy  Carpet]  sailed  from  Suez  this  afternoon  for 
Jeddah  on  its  way  to  Mecca. 

A  theft  of  £8,000  took  place  from  the  Mahmal  train  at  Abassieh. 
All  search  for  the  culprits  has  proved  fruitless. 

By  committing  suicide  this  young  gentleman  may 
have  saved  himself  from  committing  uxoricide: 

SUICIDE  —  A  young  native  gentleman  of  Cairo  committed  suicide 
yesterday  in  order  to  avoid  contracting  a  marriage  which  his  family 
were  bent  upon. 

Here  is  another  item  calculated  to  play  havoc  with 
an  American  city  editor's  peace  of  mind: 

GHASTLY  DISCOVERY  —  The  body  of  a  woman  with  the  head, 
hands,  and  feet  cut  off  was  found  yesterday  on  the  banks  of  the  Mah- 
moudieh  Canal  near  Ramleh. 

This  paragraph  is  not  without  singular  phases: 

STRANGE  MURDER  —  At  Assiout  a  saraf  (money-changer)  went 
to  a  dentist  to  have  his  false  teeth  repaired.  The  dentist's  servant 
accidentally  saw  the  contents  of  his  purse,  which  contained  £162. 

[294] 


Numerous  Crimes 

The  dentist  was  obliged  to  go  to  the  chemist  for  some  drugs.  The 
servant  then  strangled  the  saraf  and  threw  his  body  into  the  well  in 
the  back-yard.  When  the  dentist  returned,  the  disappearance  of 
the  saraf,  the  servant's  confusion,  and  the  sara/'s  shoes,  which  were 
on  the  window-sill,  excited  his  suspicions.  He  sent  for  the  police. 
They  searched  the  servant,  and  found  on  him  the  sara/'s  money  and 
his  false  teeth.  He  was  arrested. 

From  the  number  of  crimes  chronicled  in  the  fore- 
going items  it  is  reasonable  to  suppose  that  there  is  a 
large  criminal  population  in  the  Egyptian  cities.  Evi- 
dently it  might  also  be  supposed  that  the  Anglo- Egyp- 
tian government  is  responsible  for  the  fact  that  many 
of  these  criminals  go  unwhipped  of  justice.  But  such 
a  supposition  would  not  be  just  or  fair.  England  gives 
Egypt  a  very  much  better  government  than  she  ever 
had  before.  But  England  cannot  give  Egypt  as  good 
a  government  as  she  would  like  to  give,  until  the  Capit- 
ulations are  set  aside.  Under  these  every  foreigner 
demands  the  jurisdiction  of  his  own  consular  tribunal. 
The  lawless  Levantines,  of  whom  the  larger  cities  are 
full,  go  almost  scot  free  for  their  many  crimes;  the 
Egyptian  courts  cannot  touch  them.  In  Tunis,  France 
has  been  relieved  of  Capitulations,  as  has  Japan  in 
Tokio.  Surely  French  or  Japanese  justice  cannot 
be  ranked  higher  than  English.  As  matters  are  at 
present,  judicial  and  executive  functions  are  exercised 
jointly  in  Egypt  by  fourteen  powers.  Long  delays 
are  involved  in  legislation  for  Europeans  when  such 
legislation  requires  the  consent  of  fourteen  foreign  con- 
sular officers;  these  delays  result  in  the  thwarting  of 
nearly  all  such  legislation.  Lord  Cromer  says  he  hopes 

[295] 


Egyptian  Journalism 

to  have  the  Capitulations  largely  modified  or  set  aside. 
He  is  sanguine,  but  he  may  succeed. 

Some  of  the  items  in  the  Egyptian  journals  are  ren- 
dered highly  ambiguous  by  the  strange  pranks  played 
with  the  types  by  polyglot  compositors.  Here  is  such 
an  item: 

TAILORS  ATTACK  CAFE  —  Yesterday  three  British  tailors  refused 
to  pay  their  bill  for  wine  and  beer  at  the  Cafe*  du  Phare,  Alexandria. 
When  Cesare  Giolotti,  the  cafe-keeper,  attempted  to  force  them  they 
assaulted  him  and  his  Arab  waiters,  beat  them  severely,  smashed 
chairs  and  tables,  and  wrecked  the  cafe".  They  then  fled,  pursued 
by  the  police,  but  reached  the  quay,  and  before  they  could  be  arrested 
the  three  tailors  reached  their  ship,  which  was  just  leaving. 

Never  had  I  associated  such  wild  and  reckless  brawl- 
ing with  the  gentlemen  who  wield  the  shears  and  goose. 
Therefore  it  was  with  a  distinct  shock  that  I  read  of 
some  tailors  —  even  British  tailors  —  cleaning  out  a 
cafe*  and  beating  the  waiters.  I  could  readily  under- 
stand it  if  done  by  British  lords  or  British  navvies. 
But  British  tailors!  —  it  seemed  incredible.  Only  the 
close  of  the  item  made  me  comprehend  it  —  the  tailors 
were  sailors. 

A  few  years  ago  there  were  several  daily  papers  in 
Egypt  printed  entirely  in  French.  Now  the  most  im- 
portant of  these  is  half  in  English.  At  that  time  it 
was  not  uncommon  to  find  shops  where  no  English  was 
spoken,  Arabic,  French,  and  Italian  being  the  linguistic 
repertoire.  Now  a  shop  without  an  English-speaking 
shopman  seems  to  be  rare.  So,  too,  a  French  daily 
without  much  English  in  it  seems  to  be  unusual. 


Queer  Typography 

Apropos  of  native  compositors,  here  is  a  "list  of 
guests"  from  a  Cairo  journal  which  is  the  weirdest 
specimen  of  typography  I  have  ever  seen: 

Visitors  residing  at  Saroy  Hotel  As- 
souan. 

Graf  Diephole  Dienersechafl,  Rittmel- 
ster  vow  Wersebe  Dr  E.  Qurtz  Colo- 
nel Mrs  Yago  Rarow  Sehillius  yow  ba- 
nestadl,  Sir  Roberts  Harvey  Hble  Lady 
Harvey,  Hblea  Mrs  Trerille  General 
Yraher  yow  Rernevitz  Oberbieuteuaut 
Yraherr  vow  Rernevitz.,  Hbie  N.  G. 
Calthorpe  Grafiw  vow  der  Osthew 
Lord  becil,  general  H^bph,  Anew  S.  E. 
Jakhry  Pasha,  Mensieur  11  Barow  Jho- 
mas  Malis  flils,  Ds  Bug.  Jriekeo,  Herr 
Dr  Sehlossiuger,  Herr  ;gsbboy,  Sani- 
tatsrat,  Dr  Weber  Jrau  Lody  Artur 
Russel  Mr  and  Mrs  S.  Nontagu  MJ  and 
Mrs  Jrafford,  Mr  .and  Mrs  Evaw,  Mr  and 
.Mrs  Baubfeelt,  Baron  Paul  vow  Saliseh 
Hble  Mr  ane  Mrs  Griville  Nugrut,  Ge- 
neral Jiorgge,  Mrs  WUliaiu  Steoeus  Mr 
and  Mrs  Wilfred  Braupt,  Bapt  and  Mrs 
Hugh  Jraser  Mrs  Hugh  Smith,  Mr  Be- 
resford  Mr  G.  B.  Cuntifle,  Mr  and  Mrs 
A.  C.  Crouiw  and  courrur  Mr.  and  Mrs 
Holt  Jhomas,  Badt  and  Moa  Seftow 
Purdey,  Mr  ane  Mrs  H.  G.  Leklemow. 
Mr  an*  Mrs  Chas.  Rell  and  party,  Mirs 
Bell  Mirs  Steveusow,  Mr  L.  G.  Davis,. 
Mr  L.  Roth,  Mirs  SUpier  boopor  Roth 
Mr  Chawuerts,  Mr  G.  E.  Roberts  Itfr 
and  Mrs  bochraw  and  courrier  Mr  B. 
J.  Gerniaw,  Dr  med.  George  Lazariw 
and  Jraw,  Baron  and  Baronees  vow 
Grunewaldl,  Mrs  Reid,  Miss  SproaU 
Miss  Jessie  L.  Muntz,  Prof  Dr  Goldich- 
midt  and  Jraw,  Dr  Mr  L.  H.  Myers,  Mr 
Ladislad  Niemeksza,  Mro  and  M.  Mae- 
nuTiou  and  Sow  Herr  and  Jrau  Hitzig 
Mrs  Max  Seull,  Herr  Julius  Blaxrzger 
Mr.  Hoase,  .  Mr  Eng.  E.  Weuger,  Mr  L. 
Whetow  MJS  M.  L.  Logaw  Dr  Max  Jho- 
sey,  Mr  Jrederie  Dester  Mr  James  Beet 
$Dre  Lloyd  HoAard  Mr  Biebard  Provis 
Mr  and  Mrs  Spaaeer. 


[297] 


XVIII 
UP  THE  NILE  TO   LUXOR 


XVIII 

UP  THE  NILE  TO  LUXOR 

[URING  the  winter  of  1905  items  like  this 
were  by  no  means  rare  in  the  Cairo  jour- 
nals: "Yesterday  a  native,  Hassan  Yus- 
suf,  was  warming  himself  at  a  small  fire 
he  had  made  in  the  street,  when  his  clothing  caught 
fire,  and,  despite  his  frantic  screams,  he  was  burned 
to  death."  That  it  should  be  so  cold  in  Cairo  as  to 
cause  the  natives  to  make  fires  in  the  street  may  sur- 
prise many.  It  is  a  common  belief  (outside  of  Egypt) 
that  the  Egyptian  winter  is  always  hot.  True,  it  is 
often  hot  during  the  winter  in  Lower  Egypt,  but  it  is 
also  frequently  cold,  and  sometimes  bitterly  cold.  The 
wise  traveller  takes  with  him  at  all  times  and  every- 
where, in  summer  and  in  winter,  both  light  and  heavy 
clothing.  He  will  find  use  for  both  during  the  Egyp- 
tian winter. 

The  first  time  I  visited  Egypt  I  shared  the  common 
delusion  concerning  the  Egyptian  winter  climate;  when 
we  went  ashore  at  Alexandria  I  put  on  the  thinnest 
garments  I  had,  took  with  me  a  palm-leaf  fan,  and  wore 
a  Panama  straw  hat.  At  the  last  moment  some  faint 

[301] 


Up  the  Nile  to  Luxor 

gleam  of  lucidity  pierced  my  darkened  brain,  and  I 
took  with  me  a  railway  rug.  This,  however,  was 
scarcely  ratiocinatic  —  it  was  probably  automatic: 
"Rail,  rug  — rug,  rail;  going  rail  — take  rug."  It 
was  fortunate  for  me  that  I  did  so,  for  I  verily  believe 
that  without  it  I  would  have  frozen  between  Alexandria 
and  Cairo.  Lest  this  remark  be  considered  exaggera- 
tion, let  me  add  that  this  particular  winter  a  train  broke 
down  between  Alexandria  and  Cairo;  that  no  relief 
train  was  sent  out;  that  the  passengers  speedily  hired 
all  the  spare  blankets  in  the  sleeping-car;  that  the  price 
rose  from  ten  piastres  to  one  hundred  piastres  per 
blanket;  and  that  when  morning  brought  a  train  the 
men  with  the  most  money  were  wrapped  in  all  of 
the  blankets,  and  the  remainder  of  the  passengers 
had  to  be  thawed  out  by  exhaust-steam  from  the 
engine.  Jesting  aside,  the  poor  wretches  when  found 
were  stiff  with  cold,  and  many  of  them  were  made 
seriously  ill. 

In  Cairo  during  the  winter  of  1905,  there  were  many 
deaths  from  pneumonia  among  prominent  members  of 
the  European  colony  there.  The  natives  make  no 
attempt  to  hide  their  fear  of  the  climate.  On  a  cold 
morning  in  Cairo  you  will  see  every  carriage-driver, 
donkey-boy,  pedler,  dragoman,  and  natives  generally 
so  muffled  up  that  you  can  see  nothing  of  their  heads 
but  the  eyes;  they  seem  to  fear  particularly  "cold  in 
the  head,"  which  with  them  frequently  shades  off  into 
laryngeal  and  bronchial  inflammations,  and  then  into 
pneumonia. 

[302] 


Bitter  Winds  in  Winter 

It  goes  without  saying  that  the  Cairo  journals  talk 
little  of  low  temperatures  and  bitter  winds.  Of  late 
years  these  undesirable  accompaniments  of  winter  have 
driven  thousands  of  profitable  guests  from  the  Riviera 
to  Egypt.  Hence  there  are  more  congenial  topics  for 
the  Egyptian  newspapers  than  meteorological  data 
which  might  scare  off  intending  tourists.  Neverthe- 
less it  is  extremely  amusing  to  note  how  the  journals 
are  forced  to  hint  at  the  bad  weather  in  their  ordinary 
news  columns.  During  the  1905  season,  for  example, 
a  battle  of  flowers  was  in  preparation  for  weeks.  The 
papers  were  reluctantly  obliged  to  admit  that  bitter 
winds  and  raw  cold  rains  on  the  appointed  day  made 
it  a  failure.  The  regular  race-meetings  took  place  on 
the  Ghezireh  course,  but  the  newspapers  were  forced 
to  chronicle  the  fact  that  nearly  every  day  the  attend- 
ance was  small  on  account  of  the  inclement  weather. 
When  a  terrific  blizzard  blew,  the  newspapers  would 
have  softened  it  into  a  moderate  breeze  had  it  not  blown 
down  the  trolley-poles  between  the  Pyramids  and 
Cairo,  and  thereby  suspended  the  operations  of  the 
Mena  House  tram-line,  which  fact  the  papers  were 
forced  to  chronicle  in  justice  to  their  readers  who 
patronized  that  line.  I  have  spoken  of  the  luckless 
natives,  who,  huddled  over  the  pitiful  fires  they  had 
kindled  to  keep  warm,  burned  themselves  to  death. 
The  papers  touched  on  these  facts  briefly.  The  death 
of  an  Arab  or  two  is  nothing  in  Egypt,  but  when  they 
burn  themselves  to  death  in  trying  to  keep  warm  it 
naturally  excites  the  stranger's  curiosity. 

[303] 


Up  the  Nile  to  Luxor 

Another  delusion  entertained  by  many  people  is  that 
the  climate  of  Cairo  is  the  Egyptian  climate  —  that 
Cairo  is  Egypt.  This  is  far  from  the  truth.  The 
climate  of  the  Delta  of  the  Nile  —  at  the  apex  of  which 
triangle  Cairo  may  be  said  measurably  to  lie  —  is  en- 
tirely different  from  the  climate  of  Upper  Egypt.  The 
large  cultivated  area  and  the  irrigation  of  the  Delta 
have  much  modified  the  desert  climate,  and  meteoro- 
logical observers  there  all  agree  that  it  is  rapidly  chang- 
ing still.  Here  are  some  temperature  figures: 

ALEXANDRIA 

Mean  winter  temperature 60.7  degs.  F. 

Maximum  winter  temperature 65.5  degs.  F. 

Minimum  winter  temperature 56.0  degs.  F. 

CAIRO 

Mean  winter  temperature 59.5  degs.  F. 

Maximum  winter  temperature 70.4  degs.  F. 

Minimum  winter  temperature 48.0  degs.  F. 

LUXOR 

Mean  January  temperature 59.7  degs.  F. 

Maximum  winter  temperature 78.0  degs.  F. 

Minimum  winter  temperature 49.6  degs.  F. 

ASSOUAN 

Mean  winter  temperature 68.3  degs.  F. 

Maximum  winter  temperature 82.0  degs.  F. 

Minimum  winter  temperature 54.5  degs.  F. 

Luxor  is  five  hundred  and  forty-seven  miles  south  of 
Alexandria,  Assouan  one  hundred  and  thirty-three  miles 
south  of  Luxor  and  six  hundred  and  eighty  miles  south 
of  Alexandria. 

People  who  have  not  visited  Egypt  seem  to  think 

[3°4] 


Low  Nile  Temperatures 

that  it  has  an  equable  climate.  This  is  another  error. 
In  the  Delta  the  range  in  twenty-four  hours  is  often 
very  marked.  In  Upper  Egypt  the  morning  hours 
are  often  very  cold,  while  at  midday  it  is  extremely  hot. 
Middle  and  Upper  Egypt  have  a  dry  climate,  but  not 
an  equable  one. 

Many  intending  travellers  to  Egypt  believe  that  on 
the  Nile  trip  it  is  always  warm,  not  to  say  hot.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  it  is  always  colder  on  the  Nile  than  it  is 
away  from  the  river.  The  alterations  in  temperature 
are  also  greater  and  more  rapid  on  the  river  than  else- 
where. People  returning  to  their  boats  from  donkey- 
rides  over  the  desert  often  experience  severe  chills. 
The  ordinary  precautions  against  "taking  cold"  must 
be  changed  into  extraordinary  precautions  in  Egypt, 
for  the  "colds"  there  are  often  serious  matters,  and  the 
chills  are  frequently  followed  by  dangerous  illnesses. 
Inflammations,  arthritic,  pulmonary,  visceral  —  these 
are  some  of  the  things  to  be  feared  from  chills  in  Egypt, 
and  particularly  on  the  Nile  boats.  Not  only  is  the 
difference  marked  between  the  temperature  ashore  and 
aboard,  as  returning  excursionists  find,  but  the  noc- 
turnal and  diurnal  changes  are  also  very  marked.  For 
that  matter,  the  different  parts  of  the  boats  vary  greatly. 
In  a  room  on  the  upper  deck,  with  only  a  thin  roof  be- 
tween it  and  the  tropical  sun,  the  temperature  will 
sometimes  rise  to  one  hundred  and  fifteen  degrees;  if 
the  perspiring  occupant  goes  to  the  windward  side  of 
the  boat,  he  may  be  exposed  to  a  cold  wind  at  a  tem- 
perature of  about  fifty  degrees;  then  if  he  does  not 

[305] 


Up  the  Nile  to  Luxor 

guard  against  this  chilling  wind,  it  will  very  probably 
lay  him  on  his  back.  Many  hundreds  of  travellers 
have  learned  these  things  through  the  bitter  school  of 
sudden  illness,  but  the  new-comers  pay  little  heed  to 
the  experience  of  those  who  have  gone  before.  It 
seems  as  if  they  were  all  obliged  to  learn  the  lesson  all 
over  again. 

A  recent  instance  of  what  often  happens  was  expe- 
rienced by  a  notable  American  politician  a  couple  of 
seasons  ago.  His  name  was  known  in  two  continents, 
and  since  his  Nile  experience  it  is  known  in  three.  He 
is  an  Irishman  —  eloquent,  brilliant,  witty,  and  wealthy. 
Although  of  Irish  birth,  he  is  an  American  citizen  —  a 
Congressman,  Tammany  leader,  orator,  and  man  of 
the  world.  Although  an  American  citizen,  he  was 
talked  of,  when  visiting  Dublin,  as  a  candidate  for 
Parliament.  He  has  been  received  by  the  Pope  in 
special  audience.  Well,  this  man,  favored  of  fortune, 
was  on  his  way  up  the  Nile.  He  was  the  life  and  soul 
of  a  merry  party.  He  did  not  heed  the  precautions  he 
was  warned  to  take.  Yet  before  he  knew  it  the  merry 
party  had  faded  from  his  ken.  When  he  returned  to 
earth  from  his  delirium  he  found  himself  in  a  strange 
hotel  on  the  river  bank,  with  a  doctor  whom  he  had 
never  seen  and  two  strange  nurses  guarding  him. 
Nothing  but  a  superb  physique  pulled  him  through 
from  a  dangerous  attack  of  pneumonia. 

-Hi- 
Few  who  have  not  ascended  the  Nile  realize  that  its 
length  is  over  forty-five  hundred  miles.    This  is  five 

[306] 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


Tourists  at  Khartoum 

times  as  far  as  from  London  to  Rome;  more  than  six 
times  as  far  as  from  Berlin  to  Naples;  over  three  times 
as  far  as  from  Paris  to  Petersburg;  about  as  far  as  from 
Yokohama  to  San  Francisco;  about  as  far  as  from  San 
Francisco  to  a  point  in  mid-Atlantic  between  New 
York  and  Liverpool. 

Up  this  mighty  river  tourists  now  go  farther  every 
year.  It  is  comfortable  travelling  now  to  Wady  Haifa, 
famous  in  the  bloody  annals  of  the  Soudan.  In  the 
season  of  1905  hundreds  of  tourists  went  up  as  far  as 
Khartoum,  where  the  Duke  of  Connaught  opened  an 
agricultural  exposition  —  Khartoum,  the  city  that  fell 
a  few  years  ago  before  the  fanatic  dervishes  of  the 
Mahdi  and  where  the  brave  Gordon  met  his  death. 
Probably,  in  a  few  years  more,  tourist  steamers  will 
pass  the  junction  of  the  forks  where  Khartoum  lies, 
and  ascend  the  White  and  Blue  Niles. 

The  Nile  journey  is  restful  and  soothing,  but  many 
find  it  monotonous.  There  is  no  scenery  until  you 
reach  the  First  Cataract;  nothing  but  the  level  plain, 
extending  back  to  where  the  desert  hills  rise.  Along 
the  banks  there  is  a  succession  of  Arab  villages  made 
up  of  mud  huts.  One  sees  thousands  of  primitive 
water-lifters:  the  sakia,  a  water-wheel  driven  by 
animals,  and  lifting  an  endless  chain  of  buckets;  the 
shadouf,  a  bucket  suspended  on  the  end  of  a  long  well- 
sweep,  and  hoisted  by  man-power.  Sometimes,  where 
the  banks  are  high,  there  will  be  three  stories  of  ska- 
doufs  hoisting  water  from  level  to  level,  until  it  has 
reached  the  height  of  the  bank.  The  shadouj  men 

[307] 


Up  the  Nile  to  Luxor 

toil  all  day  under  the  burning  sun,  nude,  save  for  a 
cloth  around  their  loins. 

About  two  hundred  and  forty  miles  by  river  above 
Cairo  is  Assiout,  where  there  is  a  barrage  —  a  masonry 
arch  viaduct  —  twenty-seven  hundred  and  thirty-four 
feet  long.  The  Nile  here  is  from  a  half  to  three-quar- 
ters of  a  mile  wide.  This  reservoir  delivers  to  the 
irrigation  canals  of  Middle  Egypt  the  additional  supply 
of  water  provided  by  the  great  reservoir  at  Assouan, 
in  Upper  Egypt.  Many  people  go  from  Cairo  to 
Assiout  by  train,  taking  the  boat  there;  others  travel 
as  far  as  Luxor  by  train. 

Luxor  is  the  first  point  of  marked  interest  in  ascend- 
ing the  river  from  Cairo.  Here  lies  the  plain  of  ancient 
Thebes,  running  back  to  the  hills,  where  are  found 
the  Ramasseum,  the  Temples  of  Medinet  Habu,  of 
Der-el-Bahri,  of  Der-el-Medinah,  and  the  Tombs  of 
the  Kings.  These  hills  look  down  on  the  two  Colossi  of 
Memnon,  lying  between  the  hills  and  the  river.  Across 
the  stream  are  the  colossal  ruins  of  Karnak.  Standing 
on  the  high  pylon  of  this  temple  one  may  see  plainly  that 
in  remote  antiquity  the  Nile  ran  in  a  different  channel. 

These  ruins  at  Luxor  are  probably  the  grandest  in 
Egypt.  The  temples  of  Seti,  of  Rameses,  of  Thotmes, 
the  pylons  of  the  Pharaohs  and  the  Ptolemies,  the 
obelisks  of  Queen  Hatasu,  and  above  all  the  grand 
hypostyle  of  Karnak,  with  its  one  hundred  and  thirty- 
four  enormous  columns,  each  over  thirty  feet  in  cir- 
cumference, make  a  sight  which  impresses  the  least 
impressionable. 

[308] 


Climatic  Effects  on  Stone 

Briefly,  to  give  some  idea  of  the  size  of  the  Temple 
of  Karnak,  it  may  be  said  that  it  would  hold  four  build- 
ings the  size  of  the  Paris  Notre  Dame,  and  that  its 
entrance  (propylon)  equals  in  breadth  the  length  of 
many  great  cathedrals. 

We  are  told  that  Karnak  was  nothing  but  a  suburb 
of  the  ancient  city  of  Thebes.  I  permit  myself  to 
doubt  this.  Probably  the  vast  plain  on  which  the 
ancient  city  lay  contained  a  few  temples  and  some 
palaces  belonging  to  royalty,  while  the  rest  of  the 
"metropolis"  was  very  likely  made  up  of  mud  huts, 
like  those  of  the  Arab  villages  to-day. 

At  Luxor,  one  sees  the  twin  of  the  obelisk  standing 
in  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  Paris.  It  is  curious  how 
sharp  and  clear  are  the  cartouches  and  the  sculptures 
on  the  obelisks  remaining  in  Egypt,  contrasted  with 
their  mates  in  the  bleak  and  inhospitable  climes  of 
London,  New  York,  and  Paris.  Here  the  air  is  so 
pure  and  the  climate  so  mild  that  the  edge  of  the  cut 
stone-work  is  sharp  and  clear  after  thousands  of  years. 
The  face  of  the  obelisk  in  Central  Park,  New  York, 
is  peeling  off,  although  protected  by  paraffme  and  other 
mediums;  near  the  base  much  of  the  incised  work  is 
already  obliterated.  New  York's  climate  has  destroyed 
in  a  third  of  a  century  what  Egypt's  climate  failed  to 
affect  in  three  thousand  four  hundred  years. 

The  Temple  of  Luxor  is  not  yet  entirely  excavated. 
The  huts  of  an  Arab  village  sprung  up  like  toad- 
stools on  the  mounds  of  rubbish  which  centuries  had 
heaped  there.  When  the  temple's  mighty  pillars  and 

[309] 


Up  the  Nile  to  Luxor 

pylons  were  brought  to  the  light  of  day,  the  work  pro- 
ceeded until  stopped  by  the  presence  of  a  little  mosque. 
This  sacred  structure  could  not  be  touched.  Although 
years  have  elapsed  since  the  excavation  began,  the 
village  mosque  still  stops  the  work.  It  stands  near  the 
colossal  statues  of  Rameses  II.  The  mosque  is  one 
of  the  poorest,  pettiest,  and  paltriest  in  all  Egypt.  The 
contrast  between  it  and  the  gigantic  pylons  of  the  an- 
cient temple,  its  enormous  columns  crowned  with  the 
lotus-bud  capitals,  is  almost  ludicrous.  Yet  the  little 
mosque  has  behind  it  the  power  of  Islam.  And  so  it 
stands. 

Luxor  is  not  a  large  town,  having  some  two  thousand 
inhabitants;  but  it  is  rather  an  important  tourist  place. 
During  the  height  of  the  season  all  the  hotels  are 
crowded,  and  the  river  bank  is  lined  with  steam  da- 
habiyehSj  sail  dahabiyehs,  and  tourist  steamers,  from 
whose  lantern-hung  decks  resound  at  night  the  pizzi- 
cato of  the  mandolin,  the  strains  of  the  concertina,  and 
the  plunk-plunk  of  the  banjo.  The  inhabitants  gather 
on  the  banks  and  listen  eagerly  to  this  ravishing  music, 
subsequently  demanding  bakshish  for  listening,  which 
they  probably  deserve.  They  are  an  amiable  if  some- 
what unwashed  populace,  and  spend  their  time,  when 
not  begging  or  sleeping,  in  manufacturing  spurious 
antiquities.  The  simpler  ones  they  make  themselves 
—  the  more  elaborate  ones  they  import.  For  both 
there  is  a  large  sale.  That  tourists  should  so  greedily 
purchase  these  mock  scarabaei  (made  in  Birmingham) 
or  these  ancient  signet-rings  (made  in  Germany)  is 


Brummagem  Antiquities 

rather  curious  when  the  law  is  placarded  on  every 
side.  It  is  forbidden  to  sell  antiquities  discovered 
in  the  ruins,  or  to  remove  them  from  the  country  with- 
out the  consent  of  the  government,  which  law  places 
most  of  the  valuable  discoveries  in  the  great  museum 
at  Cairo.  Therefore  when  an  Arab  offers  a  tourist  a 
scarabaeus  from  the  ruins,  under  the  very  nose  of  the 
gate  guardian,  it  is  quite  evident  that  it  is  a  worthless 
fraud.  Were  it  of  value,  the  Arab  would  be  liable  to 
fine,  imprisonment,  and  confiscation  of  his  treasure. 

A  few  miles  from  the  river  are  the  marvellous  Tombs 
of  the  Kings  at  Biban-el-Muluk.  These  corridors  and 
chambers  are  hewn  out  of  the  solid  rock;  the  walls  are 
covered  with  sacred  pictures  and  texts.  In  many 
places  where  the  walls  are  colored,  the  pigments  are 
still  bright.  Sometimes  false  passages  wind  off  into 
the  bowels  of  the  mountain;  they  were  intended  to 
mislead  invaders  of  the  tombs.  Occasionally  deep 
shafts  were  sunk,  into  which  the  intruder  might  be 
precipitated.  All  sorts  of  devices  for  concealing  the 
sepulchral  chamber  are  found  in  these  tombs.  They 
are  now  comparatively  easy  to  visit,  as  the  perils  of 
darkness  or  of  dim  candle-light  are  removed ;  the  tombs 
are  now  brilliantly  lighted  with  electric  light,  which  is 
generated  there,  as  you  may  tell  from  the  dry,  hacking 
cough  of  the  adjacent  petrol-engine. 

Not  far  from  the  Tombs  of  the  Kings  is  the  Temple 
of  Der-el-Behri,  built  by  Queen  Hatasu.  She  was 
driven  from  the  throne  by  her  husband,  who  was  also 
her  brother.  He  caused  Hatasu's  pictures  and  in- 

[3"] 


Up  the  Nile  to  Luxor 

scriptions  to  be  obliterated,  replacing  them  with  his 
own  trade-marks.  Thutmoses  II. ,  who  succeeded  him, 
substituted  his  own  royal  brands  for  those  of  his  pred- 
ecessor. When  he  died,  Queen  Hatasu  again  secured 
the  throne  and  attempted  to  replace  her  inscriptions 
and  cartouches,  but  died  before  the  temple  was  finished. 
It  has  remained  unfinished,  but  the  successive  oblitera- 
tions are  still  plainly  to  be  seen  on  the  walls. 

Near  this  temple  is  the  Chalet  Hatasu,  a  rest-house 
on  the  desert,  belonging  to  the  Cook  tourist  agency. 
Water  and  food  can  be  obtained  there  only  by  those 
travellers  who  have  purchased  Cook's  tickets  thereto. 
The  agency  people  strictly  adhere  to  this  rule.  It  was 
a  very  curious  sight  to  see  a  well-dressed  man  turned 
away  hungry  and  thirsty,  his  money  refused  because 
before  leaving  his  hotel  he  had  not  secured  a  Cook 
ticket  for  the  rest-house. 


In  Upper  Egypt  the  cultivable  strip  is  so  narrow  that 
the  desert  comes  fairly  down  to  the  Nile.  Only  a  few 
hundred  yards  to  ride,  and  you  are  in  the  desert. 

Riding  over  the  desert  has  its  charm.  It  is  difficult 
to  explain  why.  But  there  is  something  soothing  in 
the  solitude  of  the  desert.  True,  your  solitude  may 
be  only  imaginary,  for  at  any  moment  a  camel  caravan 
may  wind  its  way  over  the  hill  which  confronts  you, 
or  out  of  what  looked  like  heaps  of  primitive  rocks 
there  may  start  hordes  of  Arabs,  packs  of  yelping  dogs, 


Desert  Dust  of  Dynasties 

and  gangs  of  greedy  children,  showing  that  amid  the 
rocks  are  the  huts  of  an  Arab  village. 

One  day  in  the  desert  we  met  a  camel  caravan  which 
included  a  beast  with  a  gigantic  load  of  cases  towering 
above  and  on  both  sides  of  him ;  on  the  left  flank  of  this 
mountain  of  cases  rode  a  small  Arab  slung  in  a  sling. 
The  reason  was  obvious  —  the  camel  engineers  had 
miscalculated  in  loading  and  had  put  too  much  on  the 
off  side,  thus  giving  the  camel  a  heavy  list  to  star- 
board. Arab-like,  being  too  lazy  to  repack,  they  had 
corrected  the  error  by  using  a  light  Arab  as  trimming 
ballast. 

I  was  curious  to  see  what  the  cases  contained,  so  I 
scrutinized  the  labels;  they  read,  "Moselwein."  So 
it  was  sparkling  Moselle  that  was  being  borne  over 
these  thirsty  deserts  to  make  glad  the  German  heart. 

With  all  its  heat  and  dust  the  desert  has  its  charms. 
True,  the  desert  dust  is  an  affliction,  for,  when  certain 
evil  winds  blow,  the  desert  is  shrouded  in  dust  —  vast, 
swirling  clouds,  through  which  no  eye  can  see.  But 
when  the  dust-storms  have  blown  over  and  the  desert 
is  calm  again,  you  forget  the  dust.  For  the  desert  dust 
is  dusty  dust,  but  not  dirty  dust.  Compared  with  the 
awful  organic  dust  of  New  York,  London,  or  Paris, 
it  is  inorganic  and  pure.  On  those  strips  of  the  Libyan 
and  Arabian  Deserts  which  lie  along  the  Nile,  the  desert 
dust  is  largely  made  up  of  the  residuum  of  royalty,  of 
withered  Ptolemies,  of  arid  Pharoahs,  for  the  tombs 
of  queens  and  kings  are  counted  here  by  the  hundreds, 
and  of  their  royal  progeny  and  their  royal  retainers  by 


Up  the  Nile  to  Luxor 

the  thousands.    These  desiccated  dynasties  have  been 
drying  so  long  that  they  are  now  quite  antiseptic. 

The  dust  of  these  dead  and  gone  kings  makes  ex- 
traordinarily fertile  soil  for  vegetable  gardens  when 
irrigated  with  the  rich,  thick  water  of  the  Nile.  Their 
mummies  also  make  excellent  pigments  for  the  brush. 
Rameses  and  Setos,  Cleopatra  and  Hatasu  —  all  these 
great  ones,  dead  and  turned  to  clay,  are  said  when 
properly  ground  to  make  a  rich  umber  paint  highly 

popular  with  artists. 

•**• 

Around  Luxor,  on  the  vast  plain  of  Thebes,  the  desert 
dust  has  been  made  to  blossom,  and  a  rich  green  carpet 
now  circles  the  stony  feet  of  the  Colossi  of  Memnon. 
But  greater  riches  have  come  out  of  the  desert  hills, 
where  dead  and  gone  dynasties  repose  in  rock  tombs, 
than  out  of  the  fertile  plains  below. 

After  several  visits  to  Egypt  the  wealthy  traveller  is 
often  seized  with  a  desire  to  dig  —  the  excavation  fever 
seizes  him.  Probably  the  spot  which  has  tempted 
most  travellers  is  the  ground  around  the  Sphinx.  Every 
few  years  some  new  excavator  takes  up  the  task,  spends 
a  barrel  of  money,  wearies  of  it,  and  lays  down  his  tools. 
The  drifting  desert  sands  obliterate  his  work.  In  a 
few  years  more  another  enthusiast  begins.  But  here 
around  Luxor,  farther  up  the  river,  four  hundred  miles 
from  Cairo,  the  enthusiastic  excavators  find  much  to 
reward  their  quest.  Here  they  find  tombs  that  have 
not  been  touched  for  thousands  of  years.  Such  almost 
virgin  soil  must  tempt  the  most  hardened  tomb-hunter. 


A  Virgin  Tomb 

It  is  here  that  an  American  enthusiast  has  brought  to 
the  light  of  day  treasures  which  have  dazzled  veteran 
Egyptian  archaeologists. 

The  man  of  whom  I  speak  is  Mr.  Theodore  M. 
Davis.  When  we  first  saw  his  beautiful  dahabiyeh  it 
was  moored  below  the  First  Cataract,  with  the  American 
flag  floating  at  its  stern.  We  were  told  that  the  boat 
belonged  to  an  American  who  had  just  discovered  a 
tomb  of  the  Eighteenth  Dynasty,  and  on  inquiring  found 
that  the  fortunate  Davis  was  its  owner.  For  some  time 
Mr.  Davis  had  been  excavating  in  the  Valley  of  the 
Tombs  of  the  Kings.  But  it  was  not  until  February  12, 
1905,  that  he  made  his  sensational  discovery.  His 
workmen  found  the  descending  steps  of  a  tomb  between 
those  of  Rameses  IV.  and  Rameses  XII.  The  rock 
door  at  the  foot  was  blocked  with  large  stones.  On 
removing  these,  another  flight  of  steps  was  discovered 
leading  to  a  second  door,  also  blocked  with  stones.  A 
small  opening  was  made,  through  which  a  boy  crawled; 
he  speedily  emerged,  bringing  a  chariot  yoke  covered 
with  gold,  a  wand  of  office,  a  pectoral  scarab,  and  other 
objects.  As  this  was  the  vestibule,  it  showed  that  the 
tomb  had  been  entered  by  robbers  ages  ago;  that  they 
had  taken  alarm  and  hastily  fled,  leaving  some  of  their 
plunder  in  the  vestibule,  and  that  the  tomb  had  never 
since  been  visited. 

It  happened  that  Professor  Maspero,  director  of  the 
Egyptian  museums,  and  an  archaeological  authority 
of  renown,  was  at  Luxor  on  the  very  day  of  the  dis- 
covery; so  also  were  the  Duke  of  Connaught  and  his 


Up  the  Nile  to  Luxor 

suite.  It  was  therefore  arranged  that  the  tomb  should 
be  opened  on  the  next  day  in  the  presence  of  these 
notables.  They  were  fortunate  in  their  accidental 
presence  near  Luxor.  The  tomb  was  found  to  be 
filled  with  the  richest  spoils  ever  uncovered  in  ancient 
Egypt.  There  were  mummy  cases  gold-incrusted, 
huge  alabaster  vases,  a  chariot  inlaid  with  gold,  many 
figurines  of  gold  and  silver,  chests  containing  papyrus 
flaps,  stools  covered  with  gold  and  blue  enamel,  mir- 
rors in  gold  frames,  chairs  and  stools  incrusted  with 
gold,  golden  collars  and  armlets,  and  a  mass  of  other 
things  of  great  value,  intrinsic  as  well  as  antiquarian. 
The  archaeologists  say  that  the  Eighteenth  Dynasty 
was  the  most  luxurious  and  ostentatious  period  of 
ancient  Egypt;  that  vulgar  display  of  wealth  was  char- 
acteristic of  the  time;  that  it  was  at  this  epoch  that  the 
Tel  El-Amarna  tablets  paint  Egypt  as  being  what  Cali- 
fornia was  to  the  rest  of  the  world  in  1850  —  a  place 
where  gold,  as  the  tablets  say,  was  "plentiful -as  the 
sands." 

Of  course  the  tomb  was  filled  with  other  objects  not 
made  of  the  precious  metals,  but  of  even  greater  in- 
terest. Among  these  were  the  papyrus  flaps.  A 
number  of  tablets  and  inscriptions  were  found,  shed- 
ding much  light  on  dark  points  of  Egyptian  history. 
The  tomb  was  the  burial  place  of  Yua  and  Thua, 
parents  of  Queen  Teie,  wife  of  the  third  Amonhotep. 
They  lived  here  at  Thebes  with  their  daughter,  after 
she  became  the  wife  of  one  of  the  mightiest  of  the 
Pharaohs. 


Footprints  in  a  Tomb 

It  is  the  belief  of  archaeologists  that  Mr.  Davis's  dis- 
covery, as  a  whole,  is  the  most  important  ever  made 
in  Egypt.  Single  objects  of  greater  variety  have  been 
brought  to  light  in  other  finds,  but  the  number  and 
variety  found  by  him  in  this  tomb  surpass  any  ever 
before  discovered.  Furthermore,  the  inscriptions  and 
tablets  will  add  largely  to  our  knowledge  of  the  Eigh- 
teenth Dynasty,  which  is  one  of  the  most  interesting 
dynasties  of  ancient  Egypt.  It  dates  from  1545  to  1350 
B.C.,  and  includes  the  notable  reign  of  Thotmes  III. 

After  the  discovery  of  the  rock  tomb,  Mr.  Davis  and 
his  servants  were  obliged  to  spend  three  days  and  three 
nights  camped  at  its  entrance  until  they  could  get  the 
requisite  authority  from  the  government  to  continue 
the  excavations  —  an  indispensable  precaution,  other- 
wise the  thievish  Arabs  would  have  made  short  work 
of  the  contents. 

At  the  time  when  Mr.  Davis's  discovery  was  re- 
ported, I  had  just  finished  re-reading  The*ophile  Gau- 
tier's  "  Romance  of  a  Mummy."  His  description  of 
the  young  English  lord  and  his  scientist  friend  entering 
the  virgin  tomb,  and  finding  on  its  floor  footsteps  in  the 
dust,  left  by  workmen  —  footprints  left  there  three 
thousand  years  before  —  this  I  had  always  thought 
one  of  the  most  telling  flights  of  Gautier's  fancy.  But 
I  had  looked  upon  it  as  pure  fancy.  Yet,  after  reading 
the  fantastic  prose  of  the  French  romancer,  I  was  forced 
to  admit,  when  I  heard  the  plain  narrative  of  the  Ameri- 
can explorer's  discovery,  that  Davis's  fact  was  more 
extraordinary  than  Gautier's  fiction. 

[317] 


XIX 
FROM  THEBES  TO  ASSOUAN 


XIX 

FROM  THEBES  TO  ASSOUAN 

[OR  many  miles  above  Luxor  the  Nile 
looks  as  it  does  north  of  there,  between 
Luxor  and  Assiout:  high  banks  with  few 
trees,  and  villages  only  at  long  intervals. 
The  trees  seem  to  be  mainly  palms,  with  occasional 
orchards  of  orange  and  fig-trees.  All  along  the  banks 
are  shadoufs,  with  only  now  and  again  a  sakia:  a  peasant 
who  owns  a  sakia  is  in  Egypt  called  a  capitalist  by  his 
fellow  jellaheen.  Frequently  a  footpath  winds  down 
the  steep  bank,  along  which  women  wend  their  way 
carrying  water-jars;  the  women  are  generally  engaged 
in  loud  conversation,  and  almost  invariably  arrayed  in 
black  gowns.  Male  water-carriers  may  also  be  seen 
carrying  up  the  bank  grotesquely  swollen  skins  filled 
with  water.  Where  the  river  bluff  falls  and  a  bit  of 
beach  is  seen,  other  groups  of  women  are  gathered 
washing  clothes;  men  may  also  be  seen  washing  them- 
selves and  each  other.  Often  water-carriers  may  be 
observed  calmly  filling  their  leathern  bottles  with  water 
at  these  places;  I  don't  have  to  drink  it,  but  I  sin- 
cerely hope  it  is  for  sprinkling  the  ground. 


From  Thebes  to  Assouan 

All  along  the  river  are  seen  the  native  boats;  they 
go  under  sail  when  there  is  wind;  the  crew  pole  the 
boat  along  when  there  is  no  wind  and  the  water  is  not 
too  deep;  they  resort  to  "tracking"  when  that  is  the 
only  method  feasible:  then  three  or  four  of  the  crew 
go  overboard,  each  with  a  line  in  his  mouth,  swim 
ashore,  and  haul  the  boat  up  stream.  Occasionally 
they  come  to  a  projecting  point  on  the  bank,  where 
there  is  no  footing:  then  they  go  overboard  again  and 
swim  until  there  is. 

South  of  Luxor,  at  the  town  of  Edfu,  is  found  the 
Temple  of  Horus,  the  most  perfectly  preserved  ancient 
building  in  Egypt  —  which  means  in  all  the  world. 
Time  and  weather  have  done  almost  nothing  to  deface 
it,  but  the  Coptic  Christians,  seventeen  or  eighteen  cen- 
turies ago,  spent  years  in  scratching  out  the  inscriptions 
on  its  walls. 

At  Edfu,  on  our  donkey-journey  from  the  Nile  to 
the  temple,  we  were  accompanied  by  Ali  Yusef,  a  young 
Arab  who  beguiled  the  ride  across  the  sands  by  reciting 
to  us,  in  fair  English,  poems  by  Thomas  Campbell, 
Robert  Burns,  and  Alfred  Tennyson.  He  was  a  pupil 
of  a  neighboring  mission  school.  The  donkey-boys 
looked  on  him  with  mingled  admiration,  contempt,  and 
envy  —  admiration  for  his  accomplishment,  contempt 
that  he  was  not  a  donkey-boy,  and  envy  because  he 
received  money  for  running  by  the  donkey's  side  and 
doing  nothing  at  all  but  talk,  while  they  were  not  only 
obliged  to  run  behind,  but  in  addition  to  talk,  to  shout, 
to  swear,  and  to  belabor  the  donkey's  hams.  For  his 

[322] 


Recitations  by  an  Arab 

task,  which  they  looked  on  as  merely  a  picnic,  he  gen- 
erally received  a  shilling;  while  for  theirs,  which  is  hard 
work,  the  sheik  of  the  donkey-boys  allowed  them  only 
a  few  pence.  I  asked  Ali  Yusef  if  he  had  no  poems  by 
Robert  Browning  in  his  repertoire.  He  admitted  that 
he  had  not.  I  advised  him  to  learn  some,  and  earnestly 
urged  him  to  recite  frequently  "Sordello."  For  this, 
I  told  him,  the  average  English-speaking  tourist  would 
readily  pay  from  eighteen  pence  to  two  shillings,  where 
they  would  grudge  a  shilling  for  Burns  or  Campbell. 
Ali  Yusef  listened  to  me  with  sparkling,  greedy  eyes. 
I  am  certain  that  even  now,  as  I  write,  there  is  a  youth 
in  Edfu  with  corrugated  brow  still  studying  "  Sordello." 


South  of  Edfu  the  Temples  of  Kom  Ombos,  which 
stand  close  to  the  river,  were  once  some  distance  from 
its  brink;  but  now  their  foundations  are  threatened  by 
the  river  undermining  them.  Here  one  begins  to  see 
many  more  camels  along  the  bank,  as  we  are  nearing 
the  point  where  the  camel  caravans  arrive  from  the 
Soudan,  from  Dongola,  and  from  Central  Africa. 

But  it  is  at  Assouan,  where  the  railway  line  ceases, 
that  traffic  is  confined  to  the  river  boats  and  the  camel 
caravans.  It  is  certainly  singular  to  see  camels  kneel- 
ing down  to  be  unloaded  in  the  railway  yards,  their 
packs  discharged  into  ordinary  merchandise-cars,  and 
vice  versd.  At  this  point  on  the  river  the  First  Cataract 
begins;  here  the  stream  divides  into  several  arms,  run- 
ning around  rocks  and  islands.  One  of  these,  called 

[323] 


From  Thebes  to  Assouan 

"Sirdar's  Island,"  which  belongs  to  Lord  Kitchener 
became  his  property  when  he  was  Egyptian  Sirdar. 
The  principal  island  here  is  Elephantine  Island,  on 
which  once  stood  a  Greek  city.  There  are  several 
ruins  on  the  island  and  on  the  shores  of  the  river,  none 
of  them  very  interesting.  Granite  and  alabaster  quar- 
ries lie  near  the  town  of  Assouan,  from  which  the 
ancient  Egyptians  got  their  building  stone.  Many  half- 
cut  blocks  remain.  There  is  an  obelisk,  over  ninety 
feet  long,  partially  cut  from  the  living  rock,  which  still 
lies  just  as  it  was  when  the  masons  struck  work  some 
thousands  of  years  ago. 

Two  or  three  miles  up  the  river,  to  the  south  of  As- 
souan, is  the  gigantic  "  barrage,"  or  dam,  "inaugurated  " 
over  two  years  ago:  it  may  perhaps  be  considered  not 
yet  completed.  It  is  of  granite  masonry,  one  and  a 
quarter  miles  long,  and  one  hundred  feet  in  height. 
It  is  designed  to  store  water  for  irrigation.  Within 
the  reservoir  lies  the  Island  of  Philae,  now  covered  with 
water.  Out  of  it  rise  the  ruins  of  the  Temple  of  Isis 
and  other  stately  structures.  This  is  generally  con- 
sidered to  be  the  most  picturesque  group  of  temples  in 
Egypt.  Most  of  the  Egyptian  temples  are  surrounded 
by  squalid  mud  huts,  or  are  only  partially  excavated, 
but  this  at  Philae  is  isolated.  The  world  had  feared 
that  Philae  was  doomed  —  that  the  contemplated  raising 
of  the  Assouan  dam  would  completely  cover  it.  But 
on  March  17,  1905,  Sir  William  Garstin,  chief  of  the 
irrigation  works,  made  a  report  on  this  matter  to  the 
government,  accompanying  a  report  of  Sir  Benjamin 

[324] 


'-Tl 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


Philae  and  the  Dam 

Baker,  the  eminent  engineer,  who  designed  the  Firth 
of  Forth  bridge.  Both  say  that  it  is  inadvisable  to 
increase  the  height  of  the  Assouan  dam;  it  may  there- 
fore be  considered  settled  that  Philae 's  temples  will  not 
be  completely  submerged.  Much  has  been  written 
about  the  stability  of  this  dam;  but  Sir  Benjamin  Baker 
says  of  the  dam  in  his  report,  "You  need  have  no 
anxiety  concerning  its  stability  for  centuries  to  come." 
From  this  report  it  would  seem  that  eminent  engineers 
believe  the  dam,  as  at  present  constructed,  to  be  sound, 
but  that  they  also  fear  it  would  probably  be  dangerous 
to  raise  it.  The  barrage  engineers  are  now  constructing 
a  masonry  apron  below  the  dam  to  prevent  the  water 
from  "  scouring." 

There  are  enormous  locks  connected  with  the  As- 
souan barrage,  south  of  the  First  Cataract,  through 
which  light-draught  steamers  go  toward  Wady  Haifa  and 
Khartoum.  Here  the  cultivated  area  grows  narrower, 
and  the  desert  touches  the  river.  There  is  little  in 
the  way  of  scenery,  and  there  are  few  ruins.  How- 
ever, there  are  at  Abou  Simbel  two  gigantic  temples, 
one  of  them  excavated  out  of  the  solid  rock.  At  Wady 
Haifa  a  railway  begins,  which  runs  to  Khartoum; 
although  it  is  a  military  railway,  ordinary  travellers 
use  it. 


If  many  travellers  find  even  the  Nile  journey  itself 
monotonous,  many  more  readers  would  find  the  nar- 
rative of  a  Nile  journey  tiresome.  So  I  will  leave  to 

[325] 


From  Thebes  to  Assouan 

others  the  description  of  the  voyage  up  the  Nile.  More 
interesting  to  me  were  the  scenes  and  incidents  at  the 
important  stopping-places,  such  as  Assouan.  So  I 
will  transcribe  here  some  of  my  notes  jotted  down 
during  our  stay  at  and  around  the  First  Cataract,  where 
the  fertile  fields  disappear,  where  the  Arabian  and 
Libyan  Deserts  come  down  to  the  river's  edge,  where 
you  begin  to  see  natives  from  the  Central  African 
tribes,  where  you  are  on  the  rim  of  the  desert. 

As  we  disembark  at  Assouan,  other  boats  are  making 
fast  along  the  river  bank,  some  coming  down  the  Nile 
from  Khartoum,  some  coming  up  the  Nile  from  Cairo. 
The  quay  along  the  river  is  semi- European,  or  rather 
Levantine,  its  buildings  with  arcaded  fronts  like  those 
one  sees  in  Algiers  and  other  Mediterranean  cities. 
Germans  in  the  latest  damenundherrentouristenkostum 
fashions  may  be  seen  in  numbers;  likewise  many 
American  and  English  pilgrims  pass  along  this  boule- 
vard, on  foot,  on  horseback,  on  donkey-back,  and  in 
carriages.  Every  combination  of  costume  may  be 
seen. 

Here  comes  an  old  man  (a  European)  in  a  high  silk 
hat  and  white  kid  gloves. 

Behind  him  skips  a  Bishareen  boy  of  fifteen,  wearing 
nothing  but  a  breech-cloth;  his  shiny  black  skin  is  ex- 
posed to  the  cool  breeze,  his  curly  hair  lustrous  with 
grease. 

Following  him  is  an  American  girl  in  a  thin  muslin 
gown  and  a  chip-straw  hat,  mounted  on  a  donkey. 

At  her  heels  rides  an  elderly  Egyptian  official,  sour- 


Two  Mohammedan  Women 

faced  and  fezzed,  all  crouched  up  on  his  donkey,  and 
apparently  shivering,  with  a  very  heavy  cloak  gathered 
about  his  shoulders. 

Next  we  see  a  squad  of  Soudanese  soldiers  in  khaki 
uniforms  and  khaki-colored  fezzes,  with  riding-breeches 
and  puttees  on  their  powerful  but  lanky  legs;  they 
carry  little  "swagger-switches,"  like  those  of  Tommy 
Atkins,  and  in  other  respects  are  modelled  on  him,  but 
have  faces  so  hideously  ugly  and  so  incredibly  black 
that  they  make  you  fairly  stare. 

Behind  them  again  is  another  native  group,  this  time 
of  Bishareens;  they  hail  from  Nubia,  and  differ  from 
both  the  Egyptian  Arabs  and  the  Soudanese.  There 
is  nothing  of  the  Ethiopian  about  their  faces  except 
their  skins,  for  they  have  the  same  rich,  glossy,  stove- 
polish  black  that  the  Central  Africans  have.  In  other 
respects  they  are  utterly  dissimilar,  for  they  have  straight 
noses,  fine  features,  oval  faces,  kindly  eyes,  and  are 
often  very  handsome,  except  for  their  color.  They 
usually  wear  but  one  garment,  a  dirty  cotton  shirt,  and 
are  surrounded  with  a  powerful  stench. 

From  a  grim  gateway  there  emerges  a  Mohammedan 
lady,  richly  attired,  with  immaculate  gloves,  and  neat 
French  boots.  She  wears  a  very  thin  veil,  has  large 
black  eyes,  and  from  her  figure  and  her  eyes  is  seemingly 
young  and  beautiful.  A  nurse  accompanies  her  with 
a  baby,  and  they  step  into  a  smart  carriage  behind  a 
span  of  beautiful  Arabian  horses.  A  scowling  black 
eunuch  in  a  fez  and  a  frock-coat  seats  himself  on  the 
box  beside  the  coachman. 

[327] 


From  Thebes  to  Assouan 

We  see  another  Mohammedan  woman  in  the  same 
picture,  also  in  black.  But  hers  is  not  a  handsome 
gown:  it  is  patched,  torn,  dirty;  it  hangs  in  looped  and 
winded  raggedness;  it  is  apparently  the  wearer's  only 
garment;  above  it  her  skinny  arms  stick  out,  holding 
her  baby;  below  it  her  shrunk  shanks  and  bare  feet 
protrude.  She  is  extending  a  mendicant  hand  to  the 
other  woman  in  the  carriage.  Although  still  young, 
she  is  partially  blind  —  probably  strabismus  and 
cataract.  She  peers  dimly  at  her  more  fortunate  sister 
to  see  if  alms  may  be  expected.  The  baby  with  her  is 
so  gaunt  that  it  looks  like  a  plucked  crow.  It  has 
ophthalmia  —  probably  pre-natal  —  and  its  eyes  are 
covered  with  flies,  which  it  does  not  even  lift  a  listless 
finger  to  drive  away. 

Here  comes  a  carriage  containing  Blank  Pasha,  with 
his  little  daughter  and  her  European  governess.  Blank 
Pasha  is  accompanied  by  a  European  lady,  a  guest  of 
the  big  hotel.  Blank  Pasha  is  stopping  at  the  hotel, 
and  drives,  rides,  walks,  and  takes  tea  with  various 
European  ladies  there,  all  of  whom  are  much  interested 
in  his  pretty  little  daughter.  She  has  long  brown  curls, 
big  hazel  eyes,  and  is  surrounded  by  men;  yet  in  a  year 
or  two  a  yashmak  will  veil  her  face  and  she  will  be  shut 
up  in  the  harem.  Mrs.  Blank  Pasha  is  never  invited 
—  it  would  be  the  worst  possible  taste  to  ask  Mr.  Blank 
Pasha  after  Mrs.  Blank  Pasha's  health.  He  is  evi- 
dently combining  the  best  of  European  and  Oriental 
life.  In  his  domestic  relations  doubtless  he  is  happy. 
No  strangers  intrude  upon  his  home,  and  his  harem 

[328] 


Camels,  Kegs,  Cars 

life  is  probably  peaceful.  On  the  other  hand,  his  re- 
lations with  European  friends  seem  to  be  most  agree- 
able, and  Mrs.  Blank  Pasha  does  not  interfere  with 
them.  Blank  Pasha's  plan  seems  to  work  better  than 
the  "double  life"  often  attempted  by  Occidental  hus- 
bands. 

Up  the  street  comes  a  camel  caravan  laden  with  kegs. 
At  the  command  of  the  drivers  the  camels  kneel  down; 
the  drivers  unlash  the  kegs,  which  roll  all  over  the  road, 
until  at  last  they  are  stacked  up  on  end.  Curious  to 
see  what  the  kegs  contain,  for,  theoretically,  the  Mo- 
hammedans drink  no  liquors,  we  approach.  A  trimly 
uniformed  native  policeman  politely  warns  us  off. 
When  I  endeavor  to  ascertain  the  reason,  the  only 
English  word  he  can  muster  is  "magazine."  From 
this  I  gather  that  the  kegs  are  powder-kegs,  and  I  re- 
spect him  (and  them)  accordingly.  I  heard  of  a  French 
tourist  who,  similarly  warned  by  a  Soudanese  sentry, 
did  not  obey.  The  sentry  knew  no  French;  the  French- 
man no  Arabic.  As  a  result,  the  unfortunate  tourist 
was  collared  by  the  sentry,  and  roughly  used.  He 
complained  to  his  consul  at  Cairo,  but  got  no  redress. 
Probably  he  deserved  none.  Generally  speaking,  it  is 
wise  to  obey  the  orders  of  sentries  and  police  officers 
in  a  strange  land  —  perhaps  even  at  home. 

This  railway  station  at  Assouan  is  curious  for  the 
reason  I  have  already  noted  —  the  transfer  of  mer- 
chandise from  cars  to  camels,  from  camels  to  cars.  It 
is  a  curious  contrast.  Into  the  railway  station  stalk 
the  long-legged,  awkward,  shambling,  crook-necked, 

[329] 


From  Thebes  to  Assouan 

snarling  camels,  guided  by  their  wild-eyed  Soudanese 
or  Bishareen  drivers.  They  kneel,  and  from  their 
backs  their  freight  is  discharged  into  commonplace- 
looking  merchandise- vans,  which  presently  steam  away. 

Another  curious  contrast  I  note  is  the  elevated  steel 
bridge  across  the  railway  yard  at  Assouan.  Even  here 
between  the  Libyan  and  Arabian  Deserts,  between 
Egypt  and  Nubia,  the  European  idea  of  the  danger  of 
grade- crossings  is  strictly  heeded.  To  cross  the  railway 
line  the  natives  must  mount  a  stairway  and  go  over  a 
substantial  steel  bridge.  When  I  see  this  in  Africa  I 
recall  with  amazement  express-trains  at  fifty  miles 
an  hour  dashing  through  the  main  streets  of  cities, 
towns,  and  villages  at  the  street  level,  all  over  the  United 
States. 

To-day  there  is  a  gymkana  on  the  sandy  beach  near 
the  barracks.  Here  come  the  native  competitors  for 
the  donkey-races.  In  this  gymkana  the  amateur  Euro- 
pean competitors  are  diversified  by  natives  in  sack- 
races  and  greased-pole  contests,  which  are  more  amus- 
ing than  the  Europeans'  efforts.  The  Arabs  are  much 
more  earnest  and  infinitely  more  excitable  than  their 
white-skinned  brothers.  For  example,  we  see  the 
fastest  animal  leaving  the  field  of  donkeys  far  behind; 
we  see  him  tearing  up  the  course,  his  rider  getting  more 
and  more  excited  as  he  nears  the  finish;  we  see  the  rider 
slackening  speed  in  order  to  yell  and  wave  his  arms  in 
joy  over  his  anticipated  victory;  we  hear  him  yelling, 
"Zagazig  good  donkey;  me  good  donkey-boy";  we 
note  that  he  is  losing  sight  of  his  competitors;  while  he 

[330] 


Blushing  Bedouins 


Camels  kneeling  to  be  mounted 


Arab  Idiosyncrasies 

is  nearly  falling  off  in  his  delirium  over  his  victory,  and 
falling  behind  in  his  blind  joy,  Number  Two  slowly 
forges  ahead  and  beats  him  by  a  neck.  It  is  amazingly 
Arabesque.  It  is  exquisitely  Oriental. 

Riding  up  the  road,  we  pass  by  a  little  power-house 
with  a  pump  lifting  water  from  the  Nile.  The  old 
sakia  and  the  shadouf  are  slowly  disappearing  in 
Egypt  before  steam,  electric,  and  other  power-pumps. 
As  we  pass  I  hear  the  sound  of  loud  talking,  but  on 
glancing  through  the  doorway  only  one  Arab  is  visible 
in  the  pump-house.  Arabs  are  extremely  fond  of  talk- 
ing, and  when  a  group  of  them  are  gathered  together 
the  resulting  noise  is  sometimes  deafening.  But  this 
is  the  first  time  I  have  seen  an  Arab  so  extremely  fond 
of  talking  that  he  is  talking  to  himself:  when  alone  they 
generally  lie  down  and  go  to  sleep.  My  curiosity 
impels  me  to  stop.  I  investigate.  It  is  a  telephonic 
talk,  and  my  Arab  is  having  a  wordy  row  over  the  tele- 
phone with  another  Arab,  probably  some  miles  away. 
They  love  to  talk.  They  love  verbal  battles.  How 
they  must  love  the  telephone !  For  an  Arab  to  be  able 
to  dispute  with  a  distant  Arab  must  be  inexpressible  joy. 

At  the  south  extremity  of  Assouan  is  a  gigantic 
mound  crowned  with  Roman  ruins.  Some  lover  of  the 
dead  past  has  preserved  and  propped  up  the  gaunt  and 
ragged  remnants  of  these  ruins,  so  that  they  stand  pic- 
turesquely outlined  against  the  western  sky.  Under 
these  Roman  ruins  are  Jewish  ruins;  under  them  again 
Egyptian  ruins;  heaven  only  knows  what  ruins  of  dead 
and  gone  peoples  may  lie  in  the  lowest  stratum  of  all. 

[331] 


From  Thebes  to  Assouan 

All  around  the  mound  are  Arab  ruins,  while  out  of  the 
ruins  of  dead  and  gone  peoples  —  Roman,  Jewish, 
or  Egyptian  —  the  modern  Arab  villages  crop  up  like 
muddy  mushrooms  sprouting  out  of  stone. 

Across  the  river  is  another  mound  of  ruins,  on  Ele- 
phantine Island.  Within  this  mound,  we  are  told,  lie 
the  remains  of  the  ancient  city  of  Elephantine.  On 
the  crest  of  this  mound  there  crops  up  a  bit  of  ruin  — 
a  column  or  two  —  all  that  is  visible  of  the  splendors 
of  the  buried  city  beneath.  The  edge  of  this  mound 
pitches  off  straight  to  the  water's  edge,  and  day  after 
day  crowds  of  tourists,  personally  conducted,  drago- 
man-instructed, and  donkey-borne,  stand  on  the  edge 
of  the  declivity,  with  dead  cities  under  them,  listen  to 
the  lecturers,  and  think  great  thoughts. 

Not  far  from  the  gigantic  mound  on  Elephantine 
Island  is  a  sakia.  Daily,  from  dawn  till  dark,  this 
water-wheel  revolves,  impelled  by  bullocks.  This 
sakia  budget  provides  for  bullocks  only,  and  as  there 
is  not  enough  money  in  the  appropriation  to  pay  for 
axle-grease,  the  wheels  revolve  unlubricated.  A  strange, 
weird,  moaning  sound  is  produced,  which  may  be  heard 
a  mile  or  more,  according  to  the  wind.  It  is  like  the 
sound  of  many  voices.  Tradition  says  there  has  been 
a  sakia  at  this  particular  point  on  Elephantine  Island 
for  two  thousand  years.  Probably  the  moaning  sounds 
that  we  hear  are  the  ghostly  laments  of  the  phantom 
jellaheen  who  worked  it  for  these  twenty  centuries. 

Looking  up  the  river  from  Elephantine  Island  the 
rocky  shores  suddenly  seem  to  meet.  Yet  it  is  only  a 

[332] 


Absence  of  Advertising 

seeming,  for  it  is  here  that  the  wild  gorge  of  the  First 
Cataract  begins.  That  the  river  still  makes  its  way 
through  the  rocks  we  can  discern  by  noting  the  tall 
masts  of  the  dahabiyehs  cutting  through  the  clefts  in 
the  rocks  which  make  the  gorge. 

One  thing  there  is  in  Upper  Egypt  which  gives  the 
travelling  American  a  painful  sense  of  homesickness. 
It  is  the  absence  of  advertising.  The  familiar  signs 
one  sees  along  the  cliffs,  the  trees,  the  rocks,  the  fences, 
and  the  farm-houses  of  the  United  States,  are  missing 
in  Egypt.  Often  in  riding  through  the  desert  there 
would  rise  up  a  granite  cliff  admirably  adapted  for  some 
of  the  mammoth  announcements  of  our  patent-medicine 
millionnaires,  but  I  saw  them  not.  Not  far  from  Shellal 
there  is  a  Mohammedan  cemetery,  where  a  mighty 
sheik  lies  buried.  Although  dead,  he  is  still  a  wonder- 
worker, for  all  day  long  you  may  see  Arabs  rubbing 
their  backs  against  his  tomb  and  casting  small  pebbles 
over  their  shoulders.  This  is  intended  to  cure  lame 
backs,  which  cures  are  miraculously  effected.  So 
long  has  this  gone  on  that  a  mighty  cairn  of  stones  has 
been  heaped  up  over  the  sheik's  mouldering  bones. 
What  an  admirable  place  to  paint  on  the  sheik's  tomb 
the  signs  we  so  often  see  at  home:  "Have  You  A  Weak 
Back  ?  Try  McStickem's  Porous  Plasters  —  They  Never 
Come  Off." 

Leaving  the  desert  and  going  to  the  Nile,  the  same 
painful  paucity  of  advertising  is  to  be  noticed.  All 
along  the  cataracts  the  Nile  is  a  chaos  of  enormous  flat 
cliffs  and  shiny,  black  bowlders,  looking  as  if  destined 

[333] 


From  Thebes  to  Assouan 

from  immemorial  ages  to  bear  advertisements  of  soap 
or  pill.  Yet  we  note  no  soap ;  we  perceive  no  pill.  The 
natives  use  very  little  soap,  and  as  they  have  cholera 
nearly  every  year  they  need  no  pills. 

I  saw  a  rectangular  rock  which  would  have  done 
admirably  for  the  legend,  "Good  morning  —  have  you 
used  S queers1  Soap  ?"  a  perpendicular  rock  which  fairly 
pulsated  to  tell  of  "Pale  Pills  for  Pink  People";  and 
a  beautiful  curvilinear  rock  which  in  America  would 
have  borne  this  quatrain: 

"When  Baby  was  well,  she  cried  for  Uproaria; 
When  Baby  was  sick,  we  gave  her  Uproaria; 
When  she  grew  up,  she  praised  Uproaria; 
When  she  got  married,  she  raised  Uproaria." 

Yet  these  black  rocks  tell  no  tale  of  tooth-powders 
or  typewriters,  of  cereals  or  sarsaparilla.  They  are 
silent.  What  a  waste  of  profitable  space! 

But  perhaps  there  are  sermons  in  these  stones. 


One  speedily  grows  used  to  the  odd  sights  of  Egypt, 
and  that  which  at  first  surprises  fails  finally  to  bring 
forth  an  interested  look.  But  the  donkeys  and  their 
riders  are  a  never  failing  source  of  amusement.  All 
the  long-legged  men  seem  to  be  mounted  on  the  short- 
legged  donkeys,  and  all  the  short-legged  men  on  the 
long.  You  see  a  personally  conducted  Don  Quixote 
mounted  on  an  asinine  Rosinante,  flanked  by  an  adi- 
pose Sancho  Panza  of  a  dragoman  squatting  on  a  tall, 

[334] 


Donkeys  and  Their  Riders 

mule-like  donkey,  closely  followed  by  a  russet  urchin, 
his  shirt-tail  flying  to  the  breeze,  belaboring  the  donkey 
with  a  club  and  breathlessly  yelling,  "Hatt!  Hatt! 
Hatt!  Huck-a-luck!  Huck-a-luck ! "  Thus  bellows 
the  donkey-boy.  Both  tourist  and  dragoman  seem 
perfectly  grave,  yet  who  can  gaze  on  them  without  a 
smile  ?  There  are  other  sights  connected  with  donkey 
transportation  which  also  bring  a  smile.  Every  now 
and  again  you  will  see  an  elderly  gentleman  on  a 
donkey,  wearing  a  pained  expression  on  his  face  and 
a  large  rug  on  his  stomach;  this  latter  he  has  spread  in 
front  of  him  as  a  lap-robe,  to  keep  off  the  chill  desert 
breezes;  it  is  fastened  behind  him  with  a  safety-pin. 
Shades  of  Bucephalus!  Of  Pegasus!  Of  the  sons  of 
Poseidon  and  Ixion!  Shades  of  all  horses  and  horse- 
men from  the  centaurs  down  to  the  cowboys!  Think 
of  using  a  saddle  beast  as  a  vehicle,  and  adorning  it 
with  a  lap-robe! 

Another  curious  sight  may  be  noted  as  the  crowds 
of  tourists  gallop  gayly  by  on  donkeys,  pursued  by  their 
yelling  donkey-boys:  this  is  the  large  number  of  ladies 
—  fat  and  thin,  old  and  young,  spinsters  and  widows, 
matrons  and  maids  —  who  have  turned  Amazons  for 
the  nonce,  yet  who  have  done  so  without  equipping 
themselves  for  the  saddle:  without  preparing  their 
dessousy  as  the  French  call  it.  In  the  midst  of  the  ex- 
citement engendered  by  the  fear  of  collision  with  other 
donkeys ;  the  awful  sound  of  the  blows  which  fall  upon 
their  own  donkeys'  flanks;  the  dreadful  commotion 
produced  by  their  donkeys  wriggling  eel-like  to  escape 

[335] 


From  Thebes  to  Assouan 

these  blows  from  their  own  donkey-boys;  the  Arabic 
yells  of  ignorant  donkey-boys;  the  English  curses  of 
linguistic  donkey- boys;  the  difficulty  of  steering  their 
own  donkeys  past  other  donkeys  when  both  donkeys 
know  not  what  a  bridle-rein  means;  the  danger  of 
colliding  with  all  manner  of  persons  and  things,  such 
as  two-footed  donkeys,  four-footed  donkeys,  galloping 
camels,  trotting  camels,  sitting  camels,  snarling  camels, 
Arabs  standing  in  the  roadway,  Arabs  sleeping  in  the 
roadway,  blind  beggars  walking  placidly  right  under 
the  animals'  feet  —  it  is  small  wonder  that  the  mental 
confusion  brought  about  by  all  this  hullabaloo  causes 
these  unaccustomed  Diana  Vernons  to  forget  their 
draperies.  Of  divided  skirts,  of  riding-tights,  of  riding- 
boots,  of  riding-breeches,  they  show  no  sign.  The 
result  is  a  display  which  causes  a  modest  scribe  to  turn 
away  his  eyes  and  blush.  But  the  innocent  ladies, 
knowing  naught  of  the  cause  of  his  confusion,  flash 
noisily  and  polychromatically  by. 


One  day,  riding  over  the  desert  above  the  First  Cat- 
aract, we  drew  near  an  Arab  village.  On  the  outskirts 
of  the  closely  packed  mud  huts  we  saw  two  children 
approaching,  each  with  a  bottle.  When  they  reached 
a  certain  spot  they  sat  down  on  the  sand.  Our  curiosity 
being  excited,  we  investigated,  and  found  that  the 
bottles  contained  water  which  they  had  evidently  just 
brought  from  a  sakia  well  in  an  adjacent  oasis.  What 
did  they  want  with  the  water?  To  drink?  No  — 

[336] 


Oasis  Mud  Pies 

guess  again.  You  could  not  guess  it  in  a  thousand 
years.  Well,  they  wanted  it  to  make  mud  pies.  For 
the  desert  is  not  all  hopelessly  sterile.  There  are  in  it 
vast  areas  of  drifting  sand,  but  much  of  it  is  sterile  when 
dry,  fertile  when  irrigated.  As  you  approach  an  oasis 
you  see  a  sharp  line  of  demarcation  —  on  one  side  is 
the  rich  emerald-green  clover,  on  the  other,  the  dry 
brown  desert. 

Think  of  these  little  children  in  the  desert.  How 
profound  must  be  the  love  of  the  mud  pie  in  the  heart 
of  childhood  when  these  little  black  sunbaked  Arabs 
bring  water  in  bottles  from  an  oasis  to  pour  on  the 
thirsty  desert  in  order  to  make  mud  pies! 

Outside  of  one  of  the  mud  huts  was  a  group  of  some 
score  of  women  holding  a  conversazione.  They  were 
all  talking  at  once,  and  with  that  air  of  keen  personal 
relish  which  showed  that  they  were  flaying  their  absent 
friends.  It  was  the  desert  substitute  for  an  afternoon 
tea,  or  for  the  daily  paper's  society  column.  As  we 
passed  them,  one  shiny  black  lady  with  a  face  like  an 
orang-outang  rapidly  hid  her  fascinations  from  my 
gaze  with  a  dirty  black  veil. 

"How  different  the  customs  of  different  countries," 
thought  I.  "This  lady  evidently  fears  the  effect  of 
her  beauty  upon  me.  She  thinks,  as  the  Oriental  poet 
says,  that  her  eyes  may  turn  my  heart  into  burnt  meat. 
Hence  she  mercifully  spares  me  a  further  contempla- 
tion. In  other  lands  — " 

At  this  moment  the  modest  lady  suddenly  became 
vocal.  We  were  passing  the  little  boy  and  girl  in  the 

[337] 


From  Thebes  to  Assouan 

mud-pie  business.  Seeing  that  they  regarded  us  not, 
she  shouted  to  him  who  surely  was  her  son: 

"Mohammed  Hassan  Abdallah!  Didn't  I  tell  you 
always  to  yell  'Bakshish*  whenever  you  see  any  of 
those  Christian  dogs  coming  along  ?  —  and  there  you 
are  playing  with  that  squint-eyed  little  Fatima  Gazoo. 
And  now  you've  got  no  bakshish.  Just  wait  till  I  get 
hold  of  you,  you  naughty,  naughty  boy!" 

I  know  no  Arabic  save  a  few  emphatic  and  necessary 
words.  But  I  divined  the  maternal  meaning  from  its 
effect  upon  the  son.  When  I  questioned  our  drago- 
man, he  admitted  with  a  grin  that  my  interpretation 
was  correct. 

This  was  the  effect  upon  the  son  —  Little  Mohammed 
Hassan  rose  up  as  if  he  had  been  sitting  on  a  pin, 
and  began  to  bleat,  "  B-a-k-s-h-i-s-h!  B-a-k-s-h-i-s-h! 
Boo-hoo!" 

The  latter  part  of  the  appeal  was  not  directed  to  us, 
but  was  caused  through  fear  of  his  impending  fate. 
For,  young  as  he  was,  little  Mohammed  Hassan  was  a 
fatalist,  and  he  knew  that  his  kismet  was  that  when  his 
Mohammedan  mamma  caught  him  there  would  be 
something  doing.  And  there  was.  With  a  despairing 
wail  he  took  to  flight. 

Mohammed  lifts  his  skirtlets  up, 

And  lays  his  bottle  down, 
Full  featly  fly  his  little  legs  — 

He  flees  his  mamma's  frown  I 

But  his  legs  were  short  and  his  mamma's  legs  were 
long.  Soon  she  overtook  him,  and  hovered  over  him 

[338] 


A  Desert  Tragedy 

like  the  angel  Azrael,  terrible,  avenging.  Little  Mo- 
hammed Hassan's  white  petticoats  were  uplifted,  and 
little  Mohammed  Hassan's  black  body  looked  up  to 
the  pitiless  Egyptian  sky.  His  mamma's  dark  hand 
rose  and  fell  regularly,  remorselessly.  The  thirsty 
sands  drank  up  his  tears. 

There  on  the  Libyan  desert 

Under  the  Afric  sun, 
While  dark-skinned  infants  gathered  round, 

This  black,  black  deed  was  done. 

I  turned  my  head  away,  and  kicked  my  donkey, 
Helwan,  in  the  ribs.  "Get  up,  Helwan!"  cried  I;  "let 
us  leave  this  scene.  Gee-up!"  And  I  whacked  him 
over  the  left  ear,  which  meant  "go  to  the  right."  But 
Helwan,  who  always  thought  little  of  my  desert  knowl- 
edge, disdainfully  turned  to  the  left  instead,  and  soon 
we  left  this  painful  scene  behind. 


[339] 


XX 

THE  EGYPTIANS'  FOREIGN 

GUESTS 


XX 

THE  EGYPTIANS'  FOREIGN  GUESTS 

observations  which  follow  concerning 
foreigners  in  Egypt  and  their  attitude 
toward  each  other  are  not  based  on  ex- 
periences in  Cairo.  In  the  Khedive's 
capital  there  are  several  foreign  colonies,  some  many 
years  and  some  even  centuries  old;  their  intercourse 
among  themselves,  with  other  colonies,  and  with  the 
Egyptians  is  based  on  rule  and  precedent.  Therefore 
I  include  under  the  term  "  foreigners "  those  people 
who  come  to  Egypt  for  a  stay  of  a  few  weeks  or  a  few 
months  —  transient  tourists,  more  deliberate  travellers, 
and  those  winter  residents  who  spend  the  season  regu- 
larly in  Egypt,  for  health,  climate,  or  pleasure.  Few 
of  these,  except  the  tourists,  spend  much  time  in  Cairo; 
most  of  them  ascend  the  Nile  in  a  leisurely  fashion,  or 
pass  the  winter  in  Upper  Egypt.  Furthermore,  those 
foreigners  who  stay  long  in  Cairo  do  not  have  much 
opportunity  to  become  intimate  with  the  other  national- 
ities at  their  hotels;  Cairo  is  a  large  and  busy  city,  and 
there  are  many  ways  of  passing  the  time.  Not  infre- 

[343] 


The  Egyptians'  Foreign  Guests 

quently  tourists  spend  some  weeks  in  Cairo  and  make 
no  acquaintances  at  all,  unless,  possibly,  if  they  dine 
at  the  table  d'hote,  they  may  become  acquainted  with 
their  neighbors  there.  There  are,  of  course,  not  a 
few  travellers  to  Egypt  who  bring  letters  to  officials, 
English  or  Egyptian,  military  or  civil,  diplomatic  or 
consular;  but  the  intercourse  which  results,  frequently 
very  pleasant,  can  scarcely  be  called  spontaneous.  Nor 
is  it  calculated  to  bring  forth  the  sincerity  of  mental 
attitude  aroused  by  the  chance-medley  meetings  of 
Anglo-Saxons  and  Gauls,  of  Gauls  and  Germans,  of 
Germans  and  Latins. 

Elsewhere  in  Egypt,  on  the  other  hand,  conditions 
are  utterly  dissimilar  to  those  in  Cairo.  At  the  fashion- 
able resorts  in  Lower,  Middle,  and  Upper  Egypt,  the 
guests  are  very  largely  thrown  on  their  own  resources 
for  amusement.  This  entails  acquaintanceship  among 
those  who  spend  the  whole  or  a  part  of  the  season, 
although  they  do  not  fraternize  with  the  transient 
tourists  who  flit  through  on  their  hurried  way.  But 
their  share  in  the  games  and  sports  which  they  arrange 
necessarily  makes  them  acquainted. 

After  observing  these  collections  of  wanderers,  no 
one  can  doubt  that  Egypt  is  the  most  cosmopolitan 
of  countries,  for  the  people  you  meet  here  come  from 
all  over  the  world.  After  several  visits  here,  and  after 
observing  the  attitude  of  the  various  foreigners  toward 
each  other,  I  am  inclined  to  doubt  the  ultimate  brother- 
hood of  man,  concerning  which  optimists  and  poets 
have  such  high  hopes. 

[344] 


Europeans  Do  Not  Mix 

"For  I  dipt  into  the  future,  far  as  human  eye  could  see, 
Saw  the  Vision  of  the  world,  and  all  the  wonder  that  would  be; 
*********** 

"  Till  the  war-drum  throbb'd  no  longer,  and  the  battle-flags  were  f urPd 
In  the  Parliament  of  Man,  the  Federation  of  the  World." 

It  may  be  that  some  day  there  will  be  a  federation 
of  the  world;  that  the  barriers  of  different  languages 
and  different  flags  will  all  have  faded  away;  that  the 
black-and-white  posts  on  Germany's  frontiers  will 
disappear;  that  Switzerland  will  remove  the  dynamite 
mines  from  her  end  of  the  great  tunnels  between  her 
and  her  powerful  neighbors;  that  Great  Britain  will 
disarm  Gibraltar  and  the  Sublime  Porte  open  the  por- 
tals of  the  Dardanelles. 

May  be  so.  I  don't  know.  But  I  don't  think  so. 
The  indications  of  an  ultimate  brotherhood  of  man 
seem  to  me  small,  and  growing  smaller.  There  cer- 
tainly seem  to  be  no  indications  of  it  among  the  people 
one  meets  in  Egypt.  The  various  nationalities  mix 
as  little  as  water  and  oil.  The  English  do  not  like 
the  Germans,  the  Germans  dislike  the  English,  and 
the  French  dislike  them  both.  The  Germans  and  the 
Italians  do  not  mingle;  neither  do  the  Italians  and  the 
French.  The  Russians  do  not  affiliate  with  the  Ger- 
mans, and  not  very  much  with  the  French,  the  only 
link  between  them  being  the  use  of  the  French  language 
by  the  Russians. 

The  Scandinavians  appear  to  dislike  both  Germans 
and  Russians;  they  seem  indifferent  to  the  English, 
and  affiliate  with  the  French  only  for  linguistic  reasons. 
The  Dutch  dislike  the  Germans,  although  most  of  them 

[345] 


The  Egyptians'  Foreign  Guests 

speak  the  German  tongue.  The  Belgians  consort  to  a 
certain  extent  with  the  French,  but  only  by  reason  of 
their  common  language. 

As  for  the  affiliations  of  the  Americans,  there  seems 
to  be  an  absence  of  hostility  between  the  Americans 
and  the  English,  and  when  circumstances  so  incline 
they  ally  themselves  together  as  against  all  the  others. 
Identity  of  language  brings  them  together,  and  they 
meet  on  the  ground  of  sports  and  games,  as  likewise  in 
dances  and  such  social  affairs.  But  my  observation  is 
that  in  voice,  enunciation,  accent,  inflection,  com- 
plexion, religion,  manners,  dress,  wit,  humor,  food, 
drink,  views  on  business,  views  on  society,  views  on 
rank,  views  on  government,  views  on  heredity,  views 
on  money,  views  on  marriage,  and  views  on  sport,  they 
are  as  wide  apart  as  are  the  poles. 

Egypt  is  a  good  place  wherein  to  study  these  national 
likes  and  dislikes.  Here  all  the  European  visitors  — 
or,  to  be  more  inter-continental,  let  us  say  all  the  Chris- 
tian visitors  —  are  on  neutral  ground. 

The  Egyptians  are  Mohammedans;  their  guests  are 
Christians. 

The  Egyptians  are  Africans;  their  guests  are  Euro- 
peans. 

The  Egyptians  are  of  the  Semitic  race;  their  guests 
are  of  the  Japhetic  race. 

The  Egyptians  are  polygamous;  their  guests  are 
monogamous. 

The  Egyptians  are  teetotalers;  their  guests  are  al- 
coholics. 

[346] 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


A  diminutive  Dragoman  A  Dwarf  from  Dongola 

A  Sheik  of  Donkey-Boys 
A  Descendant  of  Rameses  A  Beggar  at  Luxor 


All  on  a  Foreign  Background 

In  Egypt  certainly  the  foreigner  finds  a  fair  field  and 
no  favor.  In  Egyptian  eyes  the  foreign  visitors,  no 
matter  what  their  religion  or  morals,  are  all  tarred  with 
the  same  brush.  Toward  their  Christian  guests,  there- 
fore, the  Mohammedan  hosts  of  this  country  are 
absolutely  impartial.  Probably  the  vast  mass  of  the 
Egyptians  thus  classify  the  European  travellers  —  the 
men  as  lunatics,  the  women  as  trollops. 

In  no  other  country  with  which  I  am  familiar  do 
similar  conditions  exist  concerning  strangers.  In 
Europe,  for  example,  the  German  when  in  France,  the 
Frenchman  when  in  Germany,  the  Englishman  when 
in  Italy,  even  the  American  when  in  England,  are 
thrown  in  contact  with  a  people  who  are  at  home. 

Every  nation  is  different  when  viewed  with  a  domes- 
tic or  a  foreign  background.  Personally,.  I  think  all 
nationalities  appear  to  better  advantage  at  home.  But 
here  in  Egypt  they  all  have  a  foreign  background;  here 
no  nationality  has  a  domestic  background,  for  the 
Egyptian  masses  do  not  meet  their  foreign  guests,  and 
the  Egyptian  classes  meet  them  only  in  foreign  ways. 
Even  the  English  official  class,  who  rule  the  Egyptians, 
are  not  much  more  at  home  here  than  are  the  other 
foreigners:  they  have  their  own  domestic  and  social 
life,  but  it  is  against  an  Oriental  background. 

Thus  there  is  a  fair  field  for  all.  It  would  not  be 
possible  for  an  English  colony  in  Germany  to  manifest 
dislike  or  contempt  for  Germans.  It  is  quite  possible 
for  such  phenomena  to  take  place  in  Egypt. 

Of  the  antipathetic  nationalities,  the  most  marked 

[347] 


The  Egyptians'  Foreign  Guests 

enmity  seems  to  exist  between  the  English  and  the 
Germans.  This  is  odd,  for  there  ought  to  be  more 
acrid  causes  of  hostility  between  Germany  and  other 
nations  —  France,  for  example.  Yet,  while  the  Eng- 
lish in  Egypt  do  not  consort  with  the  French,  they  go 
even  farther  than  the  French  in  bitter  dislike  of  the 
Germans.  For  that  matter,  the  Germans  seem  to  be 
generally  disliked  all  over  the  Old  World.  At  one 
time  the  English  occupied  the  unenviable  position  of 
being  the  most  unpopular  people  in  Continental  Europe. 
Now  travellers  generally  agree  in  according  that  du- 
bious distinction  to  the  Germans. 

Nowadays  the  wealthier  Germans  travel  a  great  deal, 
and  in  most  of  the  popular  resorts  of  Europe  the  German 
tourists  now  outnumber  those  of  any  nationality  except 
the  English.  In  some  places  they  equal  the  English 
in  number.  Yet,  according  to  my  observation,  the 
two  peoples  absolutely  refuse  to  mingle.  At  the  va- 
rious resorts  in  Egypt  the  Germans  take  no  part  in 
those  entertainments  which  involve  comparative  in- 
timacy, such  as  golf,  tennis,  and  croquet  tournaments, 
which,  as  a  rule,  are  got  up  by  the  English  guests.  The 
Germans  are  spectators  at  regattas  and  gymkanas, 
are  auditors  at  concerts,  and  ride  in  paper-chases,  but 
they  avoid  the  more  intimate  sports.  The  English 
do  not  mourn  over  this  aloofness  of  the  Germans,  but 
they  rather  rejoice  at  it.  They  do  not  hesitate  on 
occasions  to  stigmatize  the  Germans  as  "unsportsman- 
like." One  day,  for  example,  a  programme  of  aquatic 
sports  was  in  progress  on  the  Nile;  it  included,  besides 

[348] 


Antipathetic  Nationalities 

a  regatta,  native  swimming  races;  the  Arab  competitors 
were  strung  out  in  a  line  across  the  river,  swimming 
furiously.  Suddenly  a  pleasure-launch,  flying  the 
German  flag,  steamed  down  upon  them  and  whizzed 
through  their  bare  bodies,  driving  many  of  the  poor 
devils  out  of  the  race  and  scattering  them  to  left  and 
right. 

The  Englishmen  conducting  the  regatta  foamed  at 
the  mouth.  When  they  testified  at  the  trial  that  evening 
before  the  Grand  Inquest  in  the  billiard-room,  the 
English  jury's  verdict  was  that  the  act  was  unpardon- 
able. "But,"  said  the  court  in  an  obiter  dictum,  "what 
can  you  expect  from  Germans?" 

I  have  spoken  of  the  fact  that  Americans  and  English 
come  together  a  little  for  the  purposes  of  games.  But 
even  in  this  regard  the  cohesion  is  slight.  The  English 
games  and  the  methods  of  playing  them  are  often 
different  from  the  American.  (They  would  say  "  differ- 
ent to.11)  The  very  terms  used  are  different,  and  when 
they  use  the  same  words  they  pronounce  them  differ- 
ently. For  example,  the  warning  word  in  golf  among 
Americans  is  pronounced  "  Fo-r-r-r-e : "  From  English 
lips  it  sounds  like  "Faw!"  In  croquet,  what  we  call  a 
"wicket"  the  English  call  a  "hoop";  what  we  call  a 
"stake"  they  call  a  "peg"  or  a  "stick";  they  count 
the  "hoops"  by  "up"  and  "down,"  as  golf -holes  are 
counted,  and  not  by  "wickets  made,"  as  we  count. 

At  tennis  they  use  the  word  "right"  to  indicate  that 
a  ball  is  played  in  the  court,  a  phrase  I  have  never 
heard  so  used  in  America. 

[349] 


The  Egyptians*  Foreign  Guests 

Not  only  in  Egypt,  but  all  over  the  Old  World,  the 
English  are  always  the  leaders  in  sports.  It  is  so,  both 
afloat  and  ashore.  Their  first  move  on  the  India- 
bound  steamships  is  to  elect  an  amusement  committee, 
which  committee  at  once  devotes  itself  to  organizing 
sports.  It  is  so  in  Egypt.  It  is  a  highly  laudable  plan, 
and  might  be  followed  to  advantage  in  many  American 
watering-places.  In  Egypt,  the  English  visitors  get 
up  polo  matches,  tennis,  croquet,  golf,  and  bridge 
tournaments,  fancy-dress  balls,  smoking  concerts,  and 
organize  gymkanas.  Those  who  know  the  difficulties 
of  keeping  up  a  golf-club  in  a  green  and  well-watered 
country,  where  there  are  permanent  residents  to  pay 
the  dues,  can  readily  conjecture  what  must  be  the 
difficulties  in  a  dry  and  desert  country,  where  the  only 
permanent  residents  are  Arabs  and  donkeys,  and  where 
the  golf-players  come  only  three  months  in  a  year. 
Yet  there  are  not  a  few  golf-clubs  in  the  land  of  the 
Pharaohs. 

There  are  many  humorous  things  connected  with 
golf  in  Egypt.  There  are  what  might  be  called  extra- 
hazardous  hazards :  for  example,  at  one  links  in  Upper 
Egypt,  the  golf-course  wound  its  desert  way  past  an 
oasis  on  which  was  a  luxuriant  field  of  clover.  A 
sliced  ball  was  extremely  apt  to  hide  itself  in  this  clover. 
The  following  new  rule  was  made  by  the  Arabs:  that 
nobody  in  boots  or  shoes  could  enter  the  oasis  limits  to 
'  search  for  balls;  only  barefooted  people  (otherwise 
Arabs)  were  allowed  to  enter.  Every  day  we  found  a 
large  population  of  Arabs  around  the  oasis  waiting  for 

[350] 


Extra  Hazards  at  Golf 

golf-balls  to  go  to  grass.  Sometimes,  I  fear,  they  were 
assisted  there,  and  it  required  much  bakshish  to  get 
them  out.  At  last  there  were  so  many  lost  balls  that 
an  investigation  was  made  by  the  green  committee. 
An  old  woman  was  discovered  hiding  near  the  clover 
hazard.  When  you  made  a  fine,  long  approach,  the 
old  lady  grabbed  the  golf-ball  and  took  to  her  heels. 
She  regarded  the  balls  as  her  legitimate  spoil,  and 
offered  them  freely  for  sale  to  the  original  owners  at 
cut  prices.  It  took  an  enormous  amount  of  time  and 
labor  to  convince  her  that  she  must  give  up  her  practice. 


What  seems  to  surprise  the  English  greatly  is  the 
propensity  of  Americans  to  go  daft  over  titles.  The 
littlest  homunculoid  princelet  from  almost  anywhere 
will  excite  a  bevy  of  American  girls  like  a  chicken-hawk 
in  a  barn-yard.  One  day  I  was  seated  on  the  terrace 
of  a  big  hotel  in  Egypt  overlooking  the  Nile.  The 
Duke  and  Duchess  of  Connaught  and  their  daughters 
were  on  their  way  down  the  river  in  a  government 
dahabiyeh.  They  had  come  ashore  for  that  solemn 
British  function,  afternoon  tea;  your  true  Briton,  royal, 
ducal,  or  commoner,  never  misses  his  afternoon  tea. 
I  had  not  heard  that  we  had  distinguished  guests,  but 
presently  I  observed  that  something  unusual  was  taking 
place.  Yet  the  excitement  was  entirely  among  the 
Americans.  All  of  my  American  fellow-countrymen 
had  their  tables  drawn  up  as  you  see  them  in  dinner- 
parties on  the  stage,  with  one  side  filled  with  the  diners 


The  Egyptians'  Foreign  Guests 

and  the  blank  side  pointed  toward  the  footlights.  In 
this  case  the  tables  were  pointed  toward  the  royal-ducal 
tea-party,  while  my  American  compatriots  gazed 
goggle-eyed  at  the  brother  of  the  English  king.  So 
rapt  were  they  in  their  scrutiny  that  many  of  them 
neglected  their  tea,  toast,  muffins,  zwieback,  cakes, 
bread  and  butter,  orange  marmalade,  raspberry  jam, 
strawberry  jam,  and  blackberry  jam,  which  kickshaws 
constitute  the  slight  snack  taken  at  5  P.M.  by  the  true 
Briton.  In  my  mind's  eye  I  could  see  them  when  they 
got  "back  home,"  telling  about  "the  time  when  I  took 
five  o'clock  tea  right  next  to  the  Duke  and  Duchess  of 
Connaught." 

How  did  the  English  behave?  Well,  they  behaved 
—  the  men  with  British  phlegm,  the  women  with  Eng- 
lish calm.  No  woman  neglected  her  tea,  no  man  his 
jam.  Some  even  finished  their  tiffin  hastily  to  go 
donkey-riding  or  to  play  tennis  or  croquet.  Many 
young  men  smoked  openly  and  unashamed.  I  even 
saw  some  elderly  men  and  women  asleep. 

On  another  occasion  I  was  stopping  at  an  Egyptian 
hotel  where  a  royal  prince  was  domiciled.  He  was  a 
grandson  of  Queen  Victoria ;  yet  he  was  as  free  to  come 
and  go  as  if  he  were  John  Smith,  of  Podunk,  U.  S.  A. 
Nobody  bothered  him,  no  one  intruded  on  him.  He 
was  a  lad  of  seventeen  or  so,  accompanied  by  a  tutor; 
yet  no  young  ladies  made  eyes  at  the  tutor;  even  the 
head-waiter  treated  the  prince  just  like  any  one  else. 
We  all  had  our  tables  reserved  for  luncheon  and  dinner, 
but  not  for  breakfast.  The  prince  took  his  chances 

[352] 


Americans  Daft  over  Titles 

for  a  table  at  breakfast  just  like  the  rest  of  us.  Among 
the  many  English  guests  nobody  turned  to  stare  at  him. 
The  assemblage  in  the  dining-hall  acted  exactly  as  if 
he  were  of  the  same  clay  as  the  rest  of  us  —  which,  by 
the  way,  he  is. 

Only  fancy  a  royal  prince  at  an  American  hotel. 
Let  us  not  say  a  royal  prince,  but  a  princeling,  or  a 
royal  dukelet,  or  even  the  seventeenth  son  of  some 
pseudo-sovereign  seventeen  times  removed.  Why, 
if  you  trot  out  a  king  of  the  Cannibal  Islands,  a  saddle- 
colored  sovereign  from  Siam,  a  monarch  of  Boorioboola- 
gha,  a  Hottentot  highness,  a  coffee-colored  potentate 
like  King  Kalakaua  —  any  old  thing  in  the  way  of  a 
king,  and  the  great  American  public  goes  crazy.  See 
how  we  acted  over  the  Russian  Grand  Duke  Alexis, 
or  the  Spanish  Princess  Eulalia,  over  whom  Chicago's 
"  society  leaders "  fought  so  bitterly  that  they  nearly 
took  meat-axes  and  cleavers  to  each  other.  When 
Prince  Henry  of  Prussia  was  in  the  United  States  a 
year  or  two  ago  his  presence  in  our  large  cities  nearly 
caused  a  riot.  And  the  American  public  has  even 
raved  over  the  job  lots  of  Mongol  princes  who  occa- 
sionally smile  upon  us  with  their  almond  eyes. 


When  in  Upper  Egypt,  we  were  approaching  our 
hotel  one  day  when  we  saw  a  column  of  black  smoke 
pouring  from  the  engine-room  and  electric  power-house. 
Suddenly  swarms  of  Arabs  appeared,  running  out  of 

[353] 


The  Egyptians'  Foreign  Guests 

the  hotel.  Two  native  policemen,  whose  post  was  at 
the  entrance  to  the  great  compound,  at  once  shut  and 
guarded  the  gates  to  keep  out  thievish  Arabs.  On  the 
surrounding  hills  hundreds  of  Arabs  from  the  neigh- 
boring villages  gathered,  and  gazed  at  the  fire  over  the 
compound  walls.  Within  the  compound  the  house- 
hold Arabs  ran  aimlessly  hither  and  thither,  yelling 
frantically:  these  were  the  table- waiters,  cooks,  cham- 
bermen,  scullions,  and  such  domestic  servants.  The 
outdoor  Arabs  were  not  so  useless :  perhaps  half  a  dozen 
of  them  worked  like  Trojans.  But  all  the  rest  were 
almost  worthless,  only  getting  in  the  way  of  those  who 
worked.  There  arose  the  usual  difficulties  in  times  of 
danger  when  white  men  —  who  are  natural  leaders  — 
direct  inferior  and  native  races:  they  cannot  under- 
stand each  other's  language. 

The  foreigners  at  this  hotel  were  from  all  over  the 
world,  yet  in  strong  contrast  to  the  Arabs  they  seemed 
entirely  calm.  I  noticed  no  excitement  among  them. 

The  engine-room  contained  engines  and  dynamos 
for  electric  light  and  power.  The  fuel  was  a  petroleum 
product,  called  "petrol."  One  of  the  natives,  in  carry- 
ing petrol  in  an  open  vessel  to  pour  into  the  receptacle 
feeding  the  engine  furnace,  slipped  and  spilled  the 
petrol.  In  a  moment  it  was  ignited  and  the  place  in 
flames.  Nothing  but  the  absence  of  inflammable 
material  in  the  engine-room  prevented  a  great  fire. 
But  the  walls  were  of  concrete;  they  were  a  foot  thick; 
the  floor  was  of  concrete;  the  engines  and  dynamos 
were  of  metal:  thus  there  was  scarcely  anything  to 

[354] 


Arabs  at  a  Fire 

burn  except  the  door-frames,  the  window-jambs,  and 
'the  petrol  in  the  tanks.     Still,  this  made  enough  of 
a  fire. 

After  many  minutes  the  shouting  Arabs  were  in- 
duced to  bring  out  from  the  hotel  a  canvas  hose.  They 
twisted  it,  burst  it,  and  did  everything  with  it  that  they 
should  not  do.  At  last  they  got  it  laid.  By  this  time 
a  hand-engine  was  coming  from  the  town,  which  was 
followed  by  a  steam  fire-engine.  By  the  time  the  Arabs 
had  got  the  hose  laid  on  and  streams  from  the  two 
engines  were  on  the  building,  the  fire  was  out.  But 
only  because  it  had  burned  out  for  lack  of  further 
material  to  burn.  Two  men  were  burned  to  death, 
and  two  men  were  fatally  injured. 

A  large  squad  of  police  and  a  company  of  soldiers 
had  arrived  by  this  time,  and  order  was  preserved: 
that  is,  all  were  orderly  except  the  Arab  servants; 
they  had  completely  lost  their  heads.  Achmed,  our 
dignified  table-waiter,  chose  this  particular  time  to 
have  a  fit.  He  wanted  to  hurl  himself  into  the  flames. 
It  took  three  men  to  hold  him;  they  were  relieved  regu- 
larly as  fast  as  they  became  exhausted.  Achmed 
struggled  violently  with  his  guardians,  and  kept  up  an 
intermittent  howling.  Many  counselors  approached 
with  sage  instructions  to  the  guardians  and  with  in- 
tended comfort  to  Achmed.  One  officious  donkey- 
boy  approached  to  give  advice.  The  donkey-boy's 
words  were  unwelcome  to  one  of  Achmed's  guardian's, 
and  as  he  had  both  arms  around  Achmed's  middle  he 
stood  on  one  leg  and  used  the  free  foot  to  kick  the  offi- 

[355] 


The  Egyptians'  Foreign  Guests 

cious  donkey-boy  in  the  stomach,  hurling  him  cata- 
pult-like, howling. 

The  spectacles  at  this  fire,  from  the  standpoint  of 
our  admirably  equipped  fire  departments  in  America, 
seemed  lamentable.  But  it  may  be  well  to  point  out 
this  fact  —  that  not  even  the  engine-room  in  which 
the  fire  broke  out  was  structurally  injured,  and  the  hotel 
was  not  burned  down.  There  are  few  watering-place 
hotels  in  the  United  States  of  which  this  could  have 
been  said.  Most  of  them  are  constructed  of  lath, 
scantling,  weather-boarding,  and  shingles.  There  may 
be  fire-proof  watering-place  hotels  in  the  United  States 
outside  of  St.  Augustine,  Florida  (which  contains  three 
hotels  built  of  concrete),  but  if  so  I  do  not  know  where 
they  are.  Most  of  the  watering-place  hotels  of  the 
United  States  are  fire-traps  and  death-traps.  When 
they  burn  they  go  with  such  rapidity  that  most  of  the 
guests  could  never  reach  the  ground.  After  they  are 
burned  their  destruction  is  so  complete  that  you  can 
see  nothing  remaining  but  twisted  iron  pipe  and  tangled 
wire.  The  American  way  of  building  watering-place 
hotels  is  to  construct  them  of  match-wood  and  then  have 
the  best  of  fire  protection.  The  Old  World  way  is  to 
have  inferior  fire  protection,  but  so  to  construct  the 
hotels  that  they  will  not  burn. 

I  was  standing  on  a  hotel  veranda  gazing  at  a  line  of 
snarling  camels,  and  wondering  at  their  unvarying 
bad  temper. 

"Ow//"  cried  an  unknown  French  lady,  suddenly 

[356] 


A  Perspiring  Lady 

turning  to  me,  "I  don't  do  a  thing  but  sweat."  And 
she  seated  herself  beside  me  under  an  awning  on  the 
terrace.  "  Vraiment,  je  ne  fais  que  suer" 

Be  reassured,  gentle  reader,  although  the  French 
lady  was  a  total  stranger  to  me,  she  was  neither  fair 
nor  young. 

I  replied  hesitatingly,  "Vous  dites,  madame?  You 
don't  do  a  thing  but  —  ?" 

"But  sweat,"  replied  the  frank  French  lady.  "Cest 
$a» 

I  became  all  of  a  cold  —  I  mean  I  perspired.  For 
I  remembered  reading  an  anecdote  of  a  young  hoiden 
who  remarked  in  the  presence  of  her  preceptress  that 
she  was  "all  of  a  sweat."  Miss  Verjuice  thus  rebuked 
her:  " Never  use  that  word  again,  Miss  Joy,"  said  the 
prim  preceptress.  "Horses  sweat;  men  PERSPIRE; 
ladies  GLOW!" 

This  anecdote  ran  through  my  mind  as  I  turned  to 
the  frank  French  lady. 

"Indeed,"  said  I  with  polite  interest,  "then  madame 
is  warm?" 

"Warm,  monsieur?     OufI  je  ne  fais  que  suer!" 

"In  effect,  madame,  the  weather  makes  of  a  warm- 
ness  enough  warm." 

"Of  a  warmness,  monsieur!  Why  the  weather 
makes  of  a  hotness  enormous!" 

"You  have  reason,  madame.  One  finds  the  heat 
indeed  of  a  hotness." 

"  Yes,  monsieur,  you  have  enormously  reason.  Ouf ! 
I  don't  do  a  thing  but  sweat!" 

[357] 


The  Egyptians'  Foreign  Guests 

"But  permit  me  to  indicate  to  you,  madame,  that 
on  the  other  side  of  the  house,  in  the  shade,  it  is  quite 
cool." 

"True,  monsieur,  but  it  is  too  cool.  On  the  other 
side  of  the  house  I  freeze;  it  is  terrible;  it  is  glacial;  it 
goes  to  me  to  the  marrow.  Yet  on  this  side  of  the  house 
I  roast;  it  is  terrible;  it  is  tropical.  Ouf!  I  don't  do  a 
thing  but  sweat!" 

It  is  only  fair  to  say  that  the  French  lady  was  measur- 
ably right.  The  temperature  on  one  side  of  the  house 
was  one  hundred  and  thirt}r  degrees  in  the  sun;  on  the 
other  side  of  the  house  it  was  fifty  degrees  in  the  shade. 
When  I  suggested  to  the  distressed  and  perspiring  lady 
that  she  might  find  relief  inside  instead  of  outside  the 
house,  she  replied:  "Oh,  monsieur,  inside  it  is  just  the 
same;  on  the  sunny  side  it  is  too  hot,  on  the  shady  side 
it  is  too  cold.  I  was  advised  to  take  a  room  on  the 
sunny  side.  There  it  is  terrible.  Ouf !  I  don't  do  a 
thing  but  sweat.  I  shall  go  back  to  that  dear  France!" 

And  the  French  lady  perspiringly  withdrew  from 
the  terrace. 

Yet  when  she  thus  expressed  her  dissatisfaction  with 
the  Egyptian  climate,  "that  dear  France"  was  covered 
with  snow.  At  Paris  it  was  ten  degrees  below  zero, 
centigrade.  Even  on  the  Riviera  it  was  cold  —  the 
entire  flower-crop  was  destroyed.  In  Lyons  the  water- 
pipes  were  all  frozen,  and  there  was  no  water;  the 
water-power  being  tied  up,  there  was  no  electric  light. 
Vesuvius  and  the  hills  around  Naples  were  covered  with 
snow.  There  was  skating  on  the  Arno  at  Florence. 

[358] 


Arctic  or  Tropical 

In  Milan  there  were  fourteen  fires  in  twenty-four  hours 
owing  to  frozen  citizens  lighting  unaccustomed  fires  in 
unusual  places.  Yet  the  French  lady  wished  to  return 
to  Europe.  Truly  we  are  never  satisfied.  We  always 
rail  against  our  lot  —  when  it's  cold  we  want  it  hot; 
when  it's  warm  we  fret  and  scold;  when  its's  hot  we 
want  it  cold. 


[359] 


XXI 
ENGLAND   IN   EGYPT 


XXI 

ENGLAND  IN  EGYPT 

[N  my  first  visit  to  this  country  I  was  more 
interested  in  its  ancient  history  and  an- 
cient ruins  than  in  more  modern  things. 
On  subsequent  visits  the  life  in  Cairo, 
the  amusements  of  foreigners  and  Egyptians,  the 
voyagers  on  the  Nile,  the  irrigation  systems,  ancient 
and  modern,  the  gigantic  dams  or  "barrages"  —  these 
things  engrossed  my  mind. 

It  is  only  during  this  recent  visit,  when  our  stay  has 
been  much  longer  than  before,  that  my  attention  has 
been  turned  to  the  English  occupation  of  Egypt.  Read- 
ing, conversation,  and  observation  led  me  to  conclu- 
sions differing  from  the  vague  and  general  impressions 
I  had  held  before. 

These  impressions  I  shared  with  most  Americans 
and  many  Englishmen  —  to  wit:  that  England's  occu- 
pation of  Egypt  has  been  a  long-considered  and  deliberate 
plan;  that  from  the  first  England  had  the  settled  end  of 
permanently  occupying  the  country  and  of  making  it  an 
imperial  colony. 

I  have  now  come  to  the  conclusion  that  this  belief 

[363] 


England  in  Egypt 

is  an  erroneous  one,  and  that  it  has  no  foundation  in 
fact.  The  further  conclusion  is  forced  upon  me  that 
the  British  occupation  of  Egypt  has  been  entirely  unde- 
signed; that  it  has  been  largely  the  result  of  accident; 
that  it  has  been  against  the  wish  of  successive  British 
cabinets;  that  it  has  not  been  the  desire  of  the  British 
people;  and  that  the  British  occupation  to-day  is  almost 
entirely  the  result  of  chance  rather  than  of  design. 

Let  me  summarize  briefly  the  curious  chain  of  cir- 
cumstances which  led  the  British  Government  un- 
willingly to  follow  the  path  of  occupation  and  conquest. 
Omitting  the  long  story  of  the  promoting  of  the  Suez 
Canal;  of  Khedive  Ismail's  magnificent  and  Micawber- 
like  financiering;  of  the  touching  confidence  with  which 
the  usurers  of  Europe  hastened  to  lend  him  money  at 
high  interest  on  low  security;  of  the  floating  of  loan 
after  loan  by  the  Egyptian  Government;  of  the  final 
fears  of  the  European  usurers  as  to  the  security  of  their 
loans ;  of  the  tightening  of  their  nets  around  the  Khedive ; 
of  his  struggle  against  impending  bankruptcy;  of  the 
danger  of  Egypt  repudiating  her  bonds;  of  his  forced 
loans  extorted  from  bankers  and  wealthy  tradesmen 
in  Egypt;  of  the  desperate  straits  which  forced  him  to 
offer  his  Suez  Canal  shares  to  England;  of  the  quick 
decision  of  Lord  Beaconsfield  to  borrow  ;£4,ooo,ooo 
from  Rothschild;  of  the  sagacity  which  led  that  finan- 
cier to  lend  it  on  an  hour's  notice  on  no  security  except 
Beaconsfield's  word;  of  this  canal  purchase  leading  the 
financial  world  to  believe  that  Great  Britain  was  about 
to  finance  Egypt;  of  the  Khedive's  request  for  an  English 

[364] 


• 


Anglo-Franco  Control 

financial  adviser;  of  the  sending  of  Mr.  Cave,  a  member 
of  the  ministry,  on  a  mission  of  financial  investigation 
to  Egypt  —  these  were  the  simple  yet  fateful  circum- 
stances which  first  led  Great  Britian  into  the  Egyptian 
tangle. 

Shortly  after  this  time  Ismail  attempted  to  consoli- 
date the  vast  Egyptian  debt,  bonded  and  floating,  into 
a  single  seven  per  cent  loan.  English  bondholders 
opposed  this  scheme;  French  bondholders  were  in 
favor  of  it.  The  Khedive  requested  France,  Italy, 
Austria,  and  England  to  nominate  Commissioners  of 
the  Public  Debt.  England  refused. 

Here  we  have  the  first  attempt  by  England  to  evade 
Egyptian  entanglements. 

However,  the  Khedive  on  his  own  initiative  appointed 
Major  Evelyn  Baring,  now  Lord  Cromer,  as  a  British 
member  of  the  Commission.  This  Commission  was 
succeeded  by  another,  which  was  succeeded  by  two 
Permanent  Controllers,  to  be  nominated  by  the  French 
and  English  Governments.  The  British  Government 
again  declined  to  appoint. 

This  was  England's  second  attempt  to  keep  out  of 
Egypt. 

Thereupon  the  British  Controller  was  nominated 
without  the  approval  of  the  British  Government.  The 
floating-debt  creditors,  being  ignored  by  the  new  Con- 
trollers, brought  suits  against  the  Egyptian  Government 
before  the  International  Egyptian  Tribunals.  This 
threatened  the  interests  of  the  European  bondholders, 
as  the  creditors  of  the  floating-debt  were  principally 

[365] 


England  in  Egypt 

Egyptians  and  Levantines.  The  danger  to  the  Euro- 
pean bondholders  led  to  the  proposing  of  a  Commission 
of  Inquiry  by  France.  Lord  Derby  at  first  refused 
to  cooperate. 

Thus  we  see  that  here  Great  Britain  made  a  third 
attempt  to  avoid  Egyptian  responsibilities. 

At  last,  under  pressure  from  British  bondholders, 
Lord  Derby  gave  way,  and  the  Khedive  appointed  a 
Commission  consisting  of  a  French  president,  one 
Egyptian  and  one  British  vice-president,  and  Italian 
and  Austrian  members.  This  Commission  endeavored 
to  unravel  the  tangle  between  the  Khedive's  individual 
debts  and  those  of  the  State;  also  to  account  for  the 
whereabouts  of  some  £50,000,000  borrowed  from 
European  creditors,  of  which  there  was  no  trace.  The 
Khedive,  in  order  to  baffle  inquiry,  threatened  to  de- 
fault on  the  current  interest  on  the  bonds;  but  he  finally 
reluctantly  consented  to  permit  that  it  be  paid.  The 
Commission  at  last  discovered  that  the  missing  moneys 
were  invested  in  over  a  million  acres  which  Ismail  had 
purchased  and  improved  as  cotton  and  sugar  planta- 
tions and  otherwise.  They  demanded  that  he  hand 
over  these  ill-gotten  goods  to  the  Egyptian  Government, 
which  was  done. 

About  this  time  an  Anglo-French  ministry  was  urged 
on  the  Khedive's  premier,  Nubar  Pasha.  Mr.  Rivers 
Wilson  was  suggested  as  the  English  candidate.  The 
British  Government  consented  reluctantly  only  on  the 
stipulation  that  the  French  minister  was  to  have  equal 
authority,  in  order  thus  to  render  English  intervention 

[366] 


German  Intervention 

in  Egypt  less  conspicuous.  It  must  be  understood  that 
Mr.  Rivers  Wilson  was  appointed  not  by  the  English 
Government  but  by  the  Egyptian  Government,  and 
that  the  British  Cabinet  contented  itself  merely  with 
"raising  no  serious  objection  to  Mr.  Wilson's  appoint- 
ment." 

Matters  continued  under  this  Anglo-French  ministry 
for  some  time,  until  the  holders  of  floating-debt  claims, 
who  had  secured  judgment  before  the  International 
Tribunals  at  Cairo,  attempted  to  levy  execution  upon 
property  already  mortgaged  as  security  for  bonds. 
This  brought  about  a  financial  crisis.  As  a  result,  the 
Khedive,  for  lack  of  funds,  was  forced  to  dismiss  a 
number  of  officers  from  the  Egyptian  army.  A  mob 
of  some  four  hundred  of  these  officers  assembled  in 
front  of  the  Ministry  of  Finance,  hustled  Mr.  Rivers 
Wilson  and  the  Minister  of  Finance,  insulted  them,  and 
shouted  " Death  to  the  Christians!"  The  English  and 
French  ministers  sent  requests  to  their  Governments 
to  protect  them  and  other  Christians  from  the  muti- 
nous officers,  but  the  British  Government  declined 
to  land  any  forces,  and  merely  sent  a  naval  vessel  to 
Alexandria. 

Thereupon  the  Khedive,  emboldened  by  British  in- 
action, dismissed  Mr.  Rivers  Wilson.  Yet  the  British 
Government  did  not  enforce  his  restoration. 

A  totally  unexpected  move  now  brought  about  im- 
portant developments.  Germany,  hitherto  entirely 
aloof,  suddenly  threatened  intervention.  Some  Ger- 
man subjects,  creditors  of  Egypt,  had  obtained  judg- 

[367] 


England  in  Egypt 

ments  against  the  Treasury  before  the  International 
Egyptian  Tribunals.  The  Khedive  refused  to  execute 
these  judgments. 

As  Germany  was  a  party  to  the  international  agree- 
ment by  which  these  tribunals  were  established,  she 
therefore  threatened  that  if  her  subjects'  judgments 
were  not  executed  she  would  herself  take  action  to  en- 
force them.  Bismarck  was  at  that  time  head  of  the 
German  Empire,  and  England  was  forced  to  join  in 
intervention  lest  the  Iron  Chancellor  should  conduct 
matters  alone.  Thereupon  England,  France,  and 
Germany  demanded  that  the  Sultan  depose  Khedive 
Ismail.  This  was  done,  and  Tewfik,  his  son,  was 
nominated  in  his  stead. 

This,  in  brief,  was  the  financial  crisis  in  Egypt  at  the 
time  —  an  empty  treasury,  European  bondholders 
pressing  for  their  interest,  Egyptian  creditors  clamoring 
for  their  principal.  Some  drastic  measure  was  needed. 
France  therefore  urged  England  to  join  with  her  in 
demanding  the  appointment  of  two  Controllers,  with 
the  right  to  be  present  at  Cabinet  meetings,  the  Con- 
trollers to  be  nominated  directly  by  their  own  Govern- 
ments. This  was  the  beginning  of  the  Dual  Control. 
Far-reaching  as  were  its  functions,  its  beginning  was 
unquestionably  due  to  the  threatened  intervention  of 
Germany,  seconded  by  the  demands  of  the  French 
bondholders  through  their  Government,  for  the  regu- 
lation of  Egyptian  finances.  It  was  only  indirectly  due 
to  the  British  Government.  The  British  Controller 
was  Major  Baring.  Under  the  Dual  Control  a  Com- 

[368] 


Araby's  Conspiracy  Begins 

mission  of  Liquidation  was  theoretically  appointed  by 
the  Khedive,  but  in  fact  selected  by  England,  France, 
Germany,  Austria,  and  Italy.  This  Commission,  after 
some  months,  effected  a  settlement  between  Egypt,  the 
European  bondholders,  and  the  creditors  to  whom  the 
floating  debt  was  owed.  This  arrangement  involved 
placing  the  various  revenue-producing  departments  of 
Egypt  under  certain  bureaus  of  the  Dual  Control. 
The  railway  earnings,  the  telegraph  earnings,  and  the 
customs  dues  of  Alexandria  went  to  pay  the  Preferred 
Debt.  Other  customs  dues,  the  tobacco  tax,  and  the 
revenue  of  some  of  the  fertile  Delta  provinces,  went  to 
pay  the  Unified  Debt.  A  special  Anglo-French  Com- 
mission was  placed  in  charge  of  the  enormous  estates 
which  Ismai'1  had  been  forced  to  disgorge.  The  income 
from  these  estates  went  to  pay  the  Khedive's  portions 
of  the  loan,  which  the  Commission  had  succeeded  in 
disentangling  from  the  purely  governmental  debts. 

It  is  needless  to  go  farther  into  this  complicated  sub- 
ject ;  it  is  only  mentioned  here  to  show  that  this  financial 
arrangement  forced  Great  Britain  and  France  to  rule 
Egypt  comprehensively  and  in  detail.  How  compre- 
hensively, may  be  understood  if  we  were  to  imagine 
some  foreign  power  ruling  the  United  States  so  abso- 
lutely as  to  take  in  every  dollar  paid  for  taxes,  customs 
dues,  railway  charges,  and  telegraph  tolls.  Here  again, 
as  will  be  seen,  this  duty  was  forced  upon  Great  Britain. 
Her  reluctance  to  enter  on  the  task  alone  was  shown  by 
the  fact  that  the  two  Anglo-French  Controllers  at  once 
nominated  a  Commission  of  the  Public  Debt  to  share 

[369] 


England  in  Egypt 

their  functions,  which  Commissioners  were  appointed 
by  England,  France,  Germany,  Austria,  and  Italy. 

Up  to  this  time  a  peaceful  country  confronted  Great 
Britain.  But  the  Dual  Control  insisted  on  economy. 
Therefore  Ismail's  army  of  forty-five  thousand  men 
was  reduced  to  eighteen  thousand.  This  involved  the 
retirement  of  two  thirds  of  the  officers.  There  existed 
great  jealousy  between  the  Egyptian  and  Circassian 
officers,  and  one  Achmed  Araby  —  a  fellah  officer  who 
was  dismissed  to  give  place  to  a  Circassian  —  organized 
a  wide-spread  conspiracy  against  the  Khedive.  To 
placate  these  officers,  Araby  and  a  number  of  others 
were  reinstated  and  promoted.  But  this  evidence  of 
weakness  on  the  part  of  the  Khedive  emboldened  them, 
and  they  demanded  that  the  Minister  of  War  be  dis- 
missed and  replaced  by  a  native  Egyptian.  Araby 
with  three  regiments  marched  to  the  Khedive's  palace, 
and  the  mutiny  ended  by  the  Khedive's  yielding  to  their 
demands. 

Following  this,  various  intrigues  resulted  in  the 
making  of  Araby  Assistant  Secretary  of  War.  He  then 
led  a  movement  called  "Egypt  for  the  Egyptians." 
The  end  sought  was  the  expulsion  of  foreigners.  He 
availed  himself  of  his  power  to  have  some  fifty  officers 
of  the  Egyptian  Army  arrested  on  the  charge  of  a 
conspiracy  to  assassinate  him.  He  had  them  all 
deported. 

The  movement  against  foreigners  was  gaining  such 
strength  that  it  alarmed  many  Europeans,  and  appeals 
were  made  to  Great  Britain  for  protection.  But  Mr. 

[370] 


Alexandria  Massacre 

Gladstone,  then  the  head  of  the  Government,  strongly 
disliked  any  foreign  intervention,  and  was  particularly 
opposed  to  intervention  in  Egypt.  France,  however, 
urged  Great  Britain  to  join  her  in  armed  intervention, 
which  that  power  finally  consented  to  do,  but  expressly 
reserved  the  right  to  say  that  she  "did  not  commit  her- 
self to  any  particular  mode  of  action." 

In  order  to  avoid  even  this  feeble  indorsement  of 
intervention,  Great  Britain  tried  to  foist  upon  Turkey 
the  disagreeable  task,  and  suggested  that  the  Sultan 
land  a  Turkish  army  to  restore  order  in  Egypt.  But 
to  this  France  positively  refused  to  consent.  There- 
fore Great  Britain  resigned  herself  to  the  inevitable. 
An  English  ironclad  accompanied  a  French  warship  to 
Alexandria,  but  the  British  admiral  was  ordered  only 
"to  protect  British  subjects  and  Europeans,"  and  was 
authorized  only  "to  land  a  force  if  required;  such  force 
not  to  leave  the  protection  of  ship's  guns  without  in- 
structions from  home." 

Again  we  see  that  Great  Britain  makes  a  futile  stand 
-  her  fourth  attempt  at  keeping  out  of  Egyptian  occu- 
pation. 

The  rumors  as  to  threatened  attacks  on  Christians, 
and  the  open  encouragement  of  these  attacks  by  Araby 
and  his  co-conspirators,  impelled  the  English  and  the 
French  consuls-general  to  demand  the  resignation  of 
the  Araby  ministerial  clique  and  the  withdrawal  of 
Araby  himself  from  Egypt.  The  Khedive  yielded, 
and  dismissed  the  Araby  clique.  Under  fear  of  their 
threats,  however,  he  reinstated  them  the  same  day. 


England  in  Egypt 

This  weakness  emboldened  the  Araby  conspirators, 
and  there  suddenly  broke  out  in  Alexandria  a  riot  which 
resulted  in  the  brutal  murder  of  some  scores  of  Euro- 
peans. While  Englishmen  were  being  shot  and  stabbed 
in  the  streets  of  Alexandria,  the  British  naval  officers 
in  the  harbor  there  were  prevented  by  their  orders  from 
landing  forces  to  defend  their  countrymen.  But  the 
fierce  outburst  of  popular  indignation  in  England, 
when  the  news  reached  there,  forced  Mr.  Gladstone 
to  give  way.  He  was  compelled  to  consent  to  armed 
intervention  on  Egyptian  soil.  But  with  the  curious 
tortuous  turn  of  Gladstone's  mind,  this  object  was 
veiled  under  the  verbal  guise  of  "  obtaining  compensa- 
tion for  losses  sustained  by  British  subjects."  Driven 
by  the  importunities  of  his  ministerial  colleagues,  and 
goaded  on  by  the  popular  wrath,  Mr.  Gladstone  there- 
upon ordered  the  Channel  squadron  to  be  dispatched 
to  Alexandria. 

Again  the  stars  in  their  courses  conspired  to  force 
England  to  occupy  Egypt.  The  French  Cabinet  be- 
lieved that  Araby's  National  Egyptian  Party  was  much 
stronger  than  it  proved  to  be;  that  its  suppression  would 
tax  the  resources  of  Great  Britain's  small  army;  that 
at  the  psychological  moment  France  could  intervene 
between  England  and  Egypt  with  great  profit  to  her- 
self. So  believing,  the  French  Government  ordered 
its  admiral  to  abstain  from  any  share  with  Great  Britain 
in  armed  intervention.  Therefore,  on  the  morrow  of 
the  Alexandria  massacres,  and  on  the  eve  of  the  fateful 
bombardment  of  June,  1881,  the  French  fleet  hoisted 

[372] 


I 
I 

I 

i 


I   UNIVERSITY 

OF 


British  Take  Cairo 

anchor  and  sailed  from  Alexandria,  leaving  the  English 
admiral  alone. 

Araby  immediately  began  manning  the  fortresses  of 
Alexandria.  Admiral  Seymour  ordered  the  forts  to 
be  abandoned  and  their  guns  dismantled.  This  was 
refused.  Thereupon  the  bombardment  began.  The 
subsequent  attempts  of  Araby  to  cut  off  Alexandria's 
water  supply  forced  the  British  Government  to  land 
an  army  to  protect  British  subjects.  This  was  pre- 
ceded by  a  protocol  in  which  Great  Britain  bound  her- 
self "not  to  seek  any  territorial  advantage  in  Egypt." 

Here  was  the  fifth  attempt  on  the  part  of  England  to 
prevent  occupation  developing  into  annexation. 

Araby  now  threatened  the  Suez  Canal.  England, 
instead  of  defending  it  alone,  requested  a  conference 
of  all  the  Powers  to  determine  how  it  should  be  de- 
fended. On  all  the  Powers  refusing,  Great  Britain 
proposed  to  France  a  joint  expedition  to  protect  the 
Suez  Canal.  France  refused  to  join.  Great  Britain 
then  was  forced  to  defend  the  canal  herself,  being  justi- 
fied in  so  doing  as  being  the  largest  stockholder. 

The  first  military  use  of  the  canal  was  made  by  Great 
Britain  when  she  landed  a  British  army  at  Ismailia. 
From  there  the  troops  advanced  on  Cairo.  Araby's 
forces  first  made  a  stand  at  Tel  el-Kebir,  but  were 
routed.  Araby  next  attempted  to  hold  Cairo,  but  the 
British  took  the  city  without  difficulty.  With  the 
surrender  of  Araby,  the  National  Egyptian  movement 
collapsed. 

Two  days  after  the  Battle  of  Tel  el-Kebir,  Lord 

[373] 


England  in  Egypt 

Dufferin  was  ordered  by  the  British  Government  to 
inform  the  Sultan  that,  as  the  insurrection  was  now 
over,  the  British  Government  intended  to  bring  about 
an  early  withdrawal  of  the  British  troops.  Considering 
Mr.  Gladstone's  strong  reluctance  to  military  occupa- 
tion, there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  good  faith  of  this 
assurance. 

But  note  the  inevitable  chain  of  circumstances.  The 
Commission  of  Liquidation  could  not  carry  out  its 
financial  measures  unless  Egyptian  credit  was  restored; 
Egypt's  credit  could  not  be  restored  if  the  British  troops 
were  withdrawn,  unless  some  other  military  force  were 
provided  to  maintain  order,  as  the  Egyptian  Army  had 
been  in  open  mutiny.  There  could  be  no  military 
force  to  rely  on  unless  it  came  from  some  other  Euro- 
pean power;  hence  Great  Britain  was  forced  to  remain 
until  the  Egyptian  Government  was  able  to  maintain 
order  alone.  An  agreement  was  therefore  drawn  up 
by  which  Great  Britain  consented  to  reduce  her  Army 
of  Occupation  to  twelve  thousand  men,  and  to  bear 
the  expense  of  the  campaign.  In  this  document  Eng- 
land not  only  agreed  to  reduce  her  army  in  numbers, 
but  to  withdraw  these  troops  as  soon  as  possible. 

About  the  time  of  the  Araby  mutiny  the  British 
Government  urged  the  Khedive  to  abolish  slavery  in 
Egypt.  Most  of  the  slaves  in  Egypt  came  from  the 
Soudan.  General  Gordon  had  already  attempted  to 
abolish  slave-trading  there  before  his  first  incumbency 
as  Governor  terminated.  At  once  there  appeared  in 
the  Soudan  a  "Mahdi"  —  a  holy  man  who,  the  Mo- 

[374] 


Evacuating  the  Soudan 

hammedans  believed,  would  lead  them  to  victory  over 
the  infidels.  He  proclaimed  himself  the  Messiah,  and 
was  at  once  believed.  Gordon's  successor  as  Governor 
attempted  to  suppress  him  and  his  followers,  but  his 
military  expeditions  against  the  Mahdi  were  all  de- 
feated. The  Governor  demanded  fifteen  thousand 
men  from  Cairo,  saying  that  if  they  were  not  sent  he 
would  be  forced  to  evacuate  the  Soudan.  The  Khe- 
dive requested  assistance  from  the  British  Army  then 
in  Egypt.  The  British  Government  peremptorily 
refused.  They  feared  being  drawn  more  deeply  into 
permanent  occupation  of  Egyptian  territory. 

Note  here  the  sixth  attempt  of  Great  Britain  to  avoid 
further  entanglement  in  Egypt. 

The  Egyptian  Government  then  sent  ten  thousand 
men  to  the  Soudan  under  the  command  of  Hicks  Pasha, 
an  English  officer,  but  no  longer  in  the  British  Army. 
Hicks  Pasha  set  out  against  the  Mahdi.  His  army 
was  utterly  wiped  out.  His  ten  thousand  men,  with 
their  officers,  guns,  and  ammunition,  disappeared  from 
the  face  of  the  earth.  They  have  never  been  heard  of 
since. 

Just  before  this  time  the  British  Government  had 
again  assured  the  Great  Powers  in  a  circular  note  that 
"its  forces  remained  in  Egypt  only  for  the  preservation 
of  order,  and  that  the  British  Government  wished  to 
withdraw  its  troops  as  soon  as  the  authority  of  the 
Khedive  could  be  properly  protected."  It  might  be 
thought  that  the  disaster  to  Hicks  Pasha's  army  would 
fire  Great  Britain  with  a  desire  to  revenge  him.  Not 

[375] 


England  in  Egypt 

so.  On  the  contrary,  Great  Britain  refused  to  help 
Egypt  in  the  Soudan;  announced  that  the  British  Army 
of  Occupation  would  be  reduced  to  three  thousand 
and  removed  from  Cairo  to  Alexandria.  Further,  the 
British  Government  intimated  that  Egypt  must  abandon 
the  idea  of  retaining  the  Soudan,  and  must  prepare  to 
withdraw  her  garrisons.  This  move  was  evidently 
inspired  by  the  idea  of  avoiding  the  slightest  possibility 
of  Great  Britain  being  entangled  in  these  Egyptian- 
Soudanese  complications. 

This  was  the  seventh  attempt  of  the  British  Govern- 
ment to  avoid  further  Egyptian  occupation. 

The  Egyptian  Government,  panic-stricken  by  the 
British  action,  at  once  ordered  its  garrisons  to  evacuate 
the  Soudan.  This  emboldened  the  Mahdi  and  his  lieu- 
tenant, Osman  Digma,  and  they  invested  the  Egyptian 
garrisons  so  actively  that  evacuation  was  impossible. 
The  Egyptian  Government  sent  to  the  Soudan  a  mili- 
tary force  under  another  English  officer,  Valentine 
Baker,  formerly  of  the  British  Army.  Like  the  army 
of  Hicks  Pasha,  the  army  of  Baker  Pasha  was  destroyed 
at  the  Battle  of  El-Teb. 

About  this  time  the  British  Government  decided  to 
send  General  Gordon  as  envoy  to  the  Soudan  to  bring 
about  the  evacuation  of  the  Egyptian  garrisons.  This 
move  was  heartily  approved  by  the  Egyptian  Govern- 
ment, as  they  hoped  that  Gordon's  mission  would  ulti- 
mately bring  about  armed  intervention  by  the  British 
Government.  In  this  forecast  they  were  right.  While 
on  the  way  to  Egypt,  Gordon  changed  his  mind  about 

[376] 


Gordon's  Gallant  Death 

acting  as  the  envoy  of  Great  Britain,  and  telegraphed 
ahead,  suggesting  that  he  should  be  nominated  by  the 
Khedive  as  Governor- General  of  the  Soudan.  This 
was  done.  Note  the  result:  By  this  appointment, 
Gordon  ceased  to  be  under  the  orders  of  the  British 
Government;  his  position  gave  him  a  free  hand;  he 
acted  according  to  his  own  judgment;  his  course  ulti- 
mately resulted  in  forcing  the  British  Government  to 
send  a  relief  expedition  to  Khartoum. 

It  is  needless  to  relate  here  the  various  expeditions 
against  the  dervishes  and  the  gradual  investment  by 
them  of  Khartoum.  The  position  of  Gordon  in  the 
beleaguered  city  excited  the  sympathies  of  the  British 
public  to  such  an  extent  that  the  Gladstone  Govern- 
ment was  most  reluctantly  forced  to  send  a  British 
army  to  rescue  him.  The  attempt  at  relief  by  this 
expedition  under  Lord  Wolseley,  and  its  arrival  at 
Khartoum  only  a  few  hours  after  Gordon  had  been 
brutally  murdered  —  these  facts  are  fresh  in  the  mem- 
ory of  most  men.  Gordon's  long  defence  and  gallant 
death  made  a  profound  impression  in  England.  The 
Government  was  forced  by  public  opinion  to  prepare 
to  send  armies  both  up  the  Nile  and  by  the  Suakin- 
Berber  route  to  destroy  the  power  of  the  Mahdi.  The 
trouble  on  the  Indian  frontier  with  Russia  temporarily 
diverted  the  public  mind,  and  Mr.  Gladstone,  taking 
advantage  of  this,  made  haste  to  withdraw  all  British 
troops  from  the  Soudan. 

With  the  advent  of  a  Conservative  ministry  under 
Lord  Salisbury,  a  further  attempt  was  made  to  with- 

[377] 


England  in  Egypt 

draw  the  British  Army  from  Egypt.  A  convention  was 
begun  with  Turkey  to  replace  the  British  army  with 
a  large  force  of  Turkish  troops  in  Egypt.  Before 
these  negotiations  were  finished,  there  was  a  change 
of  ministry  in  Great  Britain;  still,  even  under  the  new 
ministry  this  convention  was  concluded,  and  by  its 
terms  England  bound  herself  to  withdraw  her  Army 
of  Occupation  within  three  years.  But  the  French 
bondholders  became  alarmed,  and  pressure  was  brought 
to  bear  in  influencing  the  Sultan  to  quash  the  Anglo- 
Turkish  Convention.  Again  was  England  baffled  in 
her  attempt  to  withdraw  from  Egypt. 

Here  was  the  British  Government's  eighth  attempt  to 
escape  from  Egyptian  entanglements. 

An  insurrection  led  by  the  Khalifa,  after  the  death 
of  the  Mahdi,  again  forced  the  British  troops  to  go 
south  into  the  Soudan.  The  forts  standing  around 
Assouan  were  erected  by  the  English  and  Egyptian 
armies.  Starting  from  Wady  Haifa,  they  made  raids 
which  crushed  the  dervishes  under  the  Khalifa. 

By  this  time  Great  Britain  evidently  considered  her- 
self more  than  an  adviser  to  the  Egyptian  Government, 
as  was  shown  when  Nubar  Pasha,  the  Premier,  at- 
tempted to  transfer  the  Department  of  Police  from 
British  to  Egyptian  officials.  This  Lord  Salisbury 
vetoed.  The  Khedive  felt  mortified  by  this  rebuff, 
and  Nubar  Pasha  was  forced  to  resign.  With  the  close 
of  his  administration  the  attempt  to  govern  Egypt  by 
native  officials  was  practically  abandoned  by  Great 
Britain.  This  was  in  1888. 

[378] 


Kitchener  Destroys  Dervishes 

The  last  attempt  of  the  Egyptian  Government  to 
assert  its  freedom  of  action  was  under  the  present 
Khedive,  Abbas  II.,  about  ten  years  ago.  A  review  of 
troops  was  held  by  the  Khedive  at  Wady  Haifa.  The 
troops  were  commanded  by  the  Sirdar  (the  title  of  the 
Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Egyptian  Army),  then 
Sir  Herbert  Kitchener.  After  the  review  the  Khedive 
expressed  his  dissatisfaction  with  the  manoeuvring. 
The  Sirdar  immediately  sent  in  his  resignation.  There- 
upon Lord  Cromer,  British  Plenipotentiary,  at  once 
informed  the  Khedive  that  the  censure  upon  the  Sirdar 
and  the  British  officers  under  him  must  be  retracted, 
and  the  Sirdar  induced  to  withdraw  his  resignation. 
This  was  done.  Since  that  time  it  may  be  considered 
that  the  Khedive  and  the  Egyptian  Government  are 
not  free  agents. 

In  1896  General  Kitchener  headed  a  British-Egyp- 
tian army  against  the  Mahdists,  who  had  again  become 
active  after  having  been  unmolested  since  the  defeat 
of  Baker  Pasha.  In  two  years'  time  the  dervish  armies 
were  driven  out  of  Khartoum,  and  their  capital,  Om- 
durmann,  was  taken.  It  was  during  this  campaign 
that  the  historic  slaughter  of  the  dervishes  took  place, 
when  they  were  mowed  down  by  the  British  Army's 
machine-guns.  Nearly  eleven  thousand  dead  dervishes 
were  counted  on  the  field  of  battle,  and  twenty-eight 
thousand  were  found  wounded.  According  to  official 
figures,  the  casualties  of  the  English  and  Egyptian 
troops  were  forty-eight  killed  and  three  hundred  and 
eighty-two  wounded.  It  was  after  this  campaign  that 

[379] 


England  in  Egypt 

Sir  Herbert  Kitchener  was  made  Lord  Kitchener  of 
Khartoum. 

Only  three  days  after  the  capture  of  Khartoum 
General  Kitchener  learned  that  Major  Marchand  had 
hoisted  the  French  flag  at  Fashoda,  a  town  on  the  White 
Nile,  three  hundred  miles  to  the  south.  Khartoum 
at  the  time  was  full  of  newspaper  correspondents. 
Among  them  was  Randolph  Churchill,  who  in  "The 
River  Campaign"  relates  with  some  humor  how  Gen- 
eral Kitchener  carefully  bottled  up  the  scribes  before 
going  to  the  Anglo-Franco  front,  thus  anticipating  the 
Japanese  attitude  toward  the  press.  When  he  was 
certain  that  he  was  cut  off  from  cablegrams  to  Europe 
—  except  his  own  —  Kitchener  at  once  hastened  to 
Fashoda  and  hauled  down  the  French  flag  and  hoisted 
the  Egyptian.  This  caused  great  ill-feeling  in  France, 
and  for  a  time  the  friendly  relations  of  England  and 
France  were  endangered.  But  the  incident  served  to 
prove  plainly  the  fact  that  Great  Britain  now  was  in 
the  Soudan  to  stay. 

Since  then  the  Soudan,  under  the  Convention  of 
1899,  has  been  ruled  jointly  by  the  British  and  the 
Egyptian  Governments.  Its  Governor- General  by 
this  Convention  must  be  Sirdar  of  the  Egyptian  Army 
and  a  British  officer.  The  Soudan  is  under  military 
law,  and  there  are  no  civil  tribunals  there.  This  con- 
dition of  things  will  endure  until  the  various  European 
Powers  who  have  large  colonies  of  their  subjects  in 
Soudanese  towns  demand  the  erection  of  international 
courts  and  the  reception  of  consular  officers. 

[380] 


The  Destiny  of  Empires 

To  recapitulate  —  the  British  Government  encoun- 
tered the  following  curious  chain  of  circumstances: 

Ismail's  bankruptcy. 

It  precipitates  demands  by  the  European  bond- 
holders. 

This  forces  Great  Britain  to  intervene  with  France. 

Thereupon  repudiation  of  the  bonded  debt  is 
menaced. 

An  utterly  unforeseen  threat  of  intervention  comes 
from  Germany. 

This  results  in  the  Khedive's  deposition  and  the 
Dual  Control. 

The  Dual  Control  causes  official  economy. 

War  Office  economy  causes  the  military  mutiny  of 
Araby. 

This  leads  to  the  Alexandria  riots. 

The  resulting  massacre  of  Europeans  brings  a  British 
fleet. 

Alexandria  and  Cairo  occupied,  and  Araby  insur- 
rection suppressed. 

Egyptian  Government  requests  British  aid  to  sup- 
press the  Mahdi  insurrection. 

British  Government  sends  Gordon  to  Khartoum. 

His  sudden  determination  to  cease  to  be  the  British 
envoy  and  to  become  a  free  agent. 

His  refusal  to  obey  British  orders. 

Public  opinion  in  England  forces  a  relief  expedition. 

Kitchener's  capture  of  Khartoum. 

Sudden  appearance  of  the  French  flag  at  Fashoda  on 
the  Nile;  hauling  down  of  the  French  flag  by  Kitchener. 


England  in  Egypt 

Of  all  these  fateful  events,  not  one  could  have  been 
foreseen  by  Great  Britain. 

Another  matter  concerning  which  I  have  been  forced 
to  change  my  opinion  is  the  defence  of  Khartoum  by 
Gordon.  My  opinions  were  based  on  the  reports  in 
the  English  newspapers  at  the  time.  Like  many  men 
who  read  those  ministerially  colored  statements,  I  be- 
lieved that  Gordon  was  a  brave  soldier  but  a  fanatic; 
there  were  even  charges  made  that  his  mind  was  slightly 
affected.  But  while  going  up  the  Nile,  above  the  First 
Cataract,  with  the  names  of  Soudanese  battle-fields 
and  camping-grounds,  of  islands  and  bends  in  the  river, 
daily  sounding  in  my  ears,  I  read  Gordon's  journals 
of  the  siege  of  Khartoum.  I  withdraw  my  previous 
opinion  of  Gordon,  based  on  garbled  testimony,  and  I 
apologize  to  the  shade  of  that  brave  soldier.  In  his 
journals  Gordon  says  repeatedly  that  he  could  not 
evacuate  the  Soudan  and  abandon  the  soldiers  and 
civilians  who  trusted  him,  leaving  them  at  the  mercy 
of  the  hordes  of  bloodthirsty  dervishes;  that  even  if  the 
British  Government  refused  to  rescue  them  he  could 
not  leave  them  without  being  discredited  as  a  soldier 
and  dishonored  as  a  man. 


What  goes  before  is  the  narrative  of  some  thirty  years 
of  effort  on  the  part  of  Great  Britain  to  avoid  entangling 
herself  in  Egypt  —  efforts  which  have  resulted,  in  my 
opinion,  in  fixing  her  so  firmly  in  that  country  that  she 
will  never  leave  it.  Our  occupation  of  the  Philippines 

[382] 


Monument  erected  to  General  Charles  Gordon  at  Khartoum 


A  Reign  of  Order  and  Law 

was  quite  as  accidental,  but  much  more  sudden.  Since 
it  began  there  has  been  no  attempt  at  all  by  the  Admin- 
istration to  evacuate  the  islands.  In  a  minority  of  both 
the  great  political  parties  there  has  been  a  movement 
in  favor  of  evacuation,  but  the  Administration  and  the 
people  of  the  United  States  have  never  shown  any  such 
desire.  Even  had  they  made  the  attempt,  it  is  probable, 
with  Great  Britain's  experience  staring  us  in  the  face, 
that  it  would  have  failed.  Now,  however,  this  may 
be  considered  settled:  Great  Britain  will  not  evacuate 
Egypt;  the  United  States  will  not  evacuate  the  Philip- 
pines. 

A  brief  record  of  what  England  has  accomplished 
for  Egypt  would  include,  in  general,  increase  of  revenue, 
development  of  Nile  traffic,  expansion  of  foreign  com- 
merce, construction  of  great  public  works,  furthering 
of  sanitary  reforms,  and  vast  increase  in  general  pros- 
perity. In  detail,  it  might  be  added  that  the  Soudan 
has  been  completely  pacified;  slave- trading  has  been 
broken  up;  the  natives  are  being  educated;  taxes  have 
been  diminished,  yet  the  revenues  increased;  the  area 
of  cultivated  land  has  been  greatly  augmented;  the 
railway  between  the  Nile  and  the  Red  Sea  has  been 
pushed  nearly  to  completion;  a  new  harbor,  superior 
to  Suakin,  has  been  begun;  the  Assouan  dam  has 
brought  one  and  a  quarter  million  acres  under  irriga- 
tion; it  has  added  largely  to  the  value  of  tributary  lands; 
it  will,  it  is  believed,  add  another  half  million  acres  to 
the  irrigable  area  in  the  near  future;  Anglo- Egyptian 
garrisons  in  the  large  towns  have  rendered  European 

[383] 


England  in  Egypt 

interests  absolutely  secure;  as  a  result,  European 
capital  is  pouring  into  Egypt;  the  native  population, 
with  cotton,  sugar,  and  other  agricultural  products, 
is  doing  better  than  ever  before. 

In  her  reluctant  occupation  of  Egypt,  Great  Britain 
has  brought  to  the  fertile  valley  of  the  Nile  what  never 
was  known  there  before  —  peace,  justice,  order,  law. 
But  this  admirable  administration  has  cost  her  much 
in  money  and  men.  True,  the  cost  is  nominally  borne 
by  the  Egyptian  Government,  but  he  would  be  a  bold 
man  who  maintained  that  the  Egyptian  occupation  has 
cost  England  nothing.  It  is  probable  that  in  the  years 
to  come  the  great  natural  wealth  of  Egypt,  her  fertile 
soil,  her  sugar  and  cotton  fields,  and  above  all  the  great 
reservoirs  in  which  the  waters  of  the  mighty  Nile  are 
stored,  devised  and  built  by  British  energy  and  English 
money  —  that  all  these  things  will  lead  to  paying  back 
to  England  what  she  has  spent  in  Egypt. 


[384] 


XXII 
RETROSPECT  AND  FORECAST 


XXII 

RETROSPECT  AND  FORECAST 

FIRST  visit  to  Egypt  and  the  Delta  makes 
an  indelible  impression  on  the  traveller's 
mind.  For  hundreds  of  miles,  as  the  ex- 
press-train whirls  and  shrieks  past  the 
toiling  fellaheen  in  the  fields,  you  see  them  using  the 
same  primitive  methods  their  forefathers  used  when 
Pharaoh  reigned.  They  still  plough  with  a  simple 
wooden  implement  dragged  by  patient  buffalo  oxen; 
they  still  laboriously  lift  water  with  a  well-sweep  to  the 
head-level  of  irrigating  ditches;  they  still  use  the  sickle 
as  they  did  in  the  days  when  Ruth  followed  the  reapers 
of  Boaz.  And  they  still  carry  their  bundles  of  fodder 
upon  the  backs  of  patient  asses,  or,  in  default  of  asses' 
backs,  upon  their  own. 

Of  course,  all  agriculture  in  Egypt  is  not  on  such 
rudimentary  lines.  Rich  men  and  syndicates,  as  well 
as  peasants,  own  land;  many  tall  chimneys  testify  to 
the  existence  of  sugar- works;  many  steam-pumps  and 
pipe-lines  point  out  extensive  irrigation-works.  The 
Egyptian  government  has  dammed  the  Nile  at  Assiout 
and  at  Assouan,  and  is  engaged  in  other  water-storage 

[387] 


Retrospect  and  Forecast 

schemes  at  various  points  along  the  great  river.  These 
plans  will  greatly  widen  the  narrow  strip  of  irrigated 
land  on  both  banks  of  the  river,  and  thereby  enlarge 
the  resources  of  this  wonderful  country. 

For  it  is  a  wonderful  country.  The  story  of  its 
temples,  its  pyramids,  its  ruins,  and  its  dead  cities,  is 
a  thrice-told  tale:  it  no  longer  causes  wonder.  But  no 
man  can  gaze  on  this  flat  and  fertile  river  valley  without 
being  amazed  at  its  productiveness.  In  America  we 
have  lands  which,  tilled  for  two  or  three  centuries  only, 
yet  are  exhausted  by  wheat  or  tobacco- raising;  but  here 
in  Egypt  there  are  fields  still  seemingly  as  fertile  as 
when  the  First  Dynasty  began,  although  they  have 
been  tilled  for  four  thousand  years. 

Some  historians  believe  that  Egypt  was  the  cradle  of 
our  Aryan  civilization.  Here,  they  say,  nomadic  man 
paused  at  the  great  river  when  wandering  from  Arabia 
Felix  into  Africa.  Those  who  were  tired  of  wandering 
settled  on  the  fat  and  juicy  banks  of  the  Nile,  and  began 
a  fitful  husbandry  of  the  soil.  Tickled  with  a  stick,  it 
laughed  with  a  harvest,  as  the  old  saw  says.  Grad- 
ually villages  grew  up,  and  thrift  brought  peace  and 
prosperity.  The  rich  lands  were  divided  among  the 
thrifty  villagers.  This  was  the  beginning  of  Real 
Property.  When  the  lands  Were  divided  they  had  to 
be  measured,  the  lines  run,  the  boundaries  set  off. 
This  was  the  beginning  of  Mensuration,  of  Mathe- 
matics, of  Geometry.  The  property  boundaries  were 
obliterated  each  year  by  the  rise  of  the  Nile;  regula- 
tions were  made  to  settle  disputes  concerning  them. 

[388] 


UNIVERSITY  j 

CAL'FOR^' 


Retrospect  and  Forecast 

This  was  the  beginning  of  Law.  Wise  men  among 
the  villagers,  seeing  that  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars  had 
much  to  do  with  the  volume  of  the  Nile  flood,  carefully 
observed  and  noted  their  movements.  This  was  the 
beginning  of  Astronomy.  The  simple  villagers  looked 
with  awe  on  these  wise  men  who  spent  their  time  com- 
muning with  the  stars.  The  erection  of  an  official 
class  followed.  This  was  the  beginning  of  the  Priest- 
hood. The  priests  claimed  supernatural  knowledge 
of  the  celestial  bodies.  They  imposed  rules  regarding 
the  manners  and  conduct  of  men.  They  ordered  the 
villagers  to  follow  these  rules,  and  to  erect  temples 
wherein  they  should  be  expounded.  This  was  the 
beginning  of  Religion.  But  the  fierce  nomads  of 
the  desert  found  profit  in  harrying  and  plundering 
the  weaker  villagers  by  the  riverside.  Therefore,  the 
priests  chose  from  among  the  villagers  those  who  were 
not  only  brave,  but  crafty,  cunning,  and  leaders  of  men. 
These  bold  and  cunning  villagers  succeeded  in  defeat- 
ing the  fiercer  nomads  by  ambuscade  and  stratagem. 
This  was  the  beginning  of  the  Science  of  War.  To 
protect  their  cities  they  erected  walls,  fortresses,  fortifi- 
cations. Thus  grew  up  Engineering  and  Architecture. 
At  last  a  bolder  leader  among  the  bold  parleyed  with 
the  priesthood,  terrified  the  mass  of  men,  mastered 
Priests  and  Commons,  and  made  himself  lord  over  all. 
Thus  grew  up  Monarchy,  and  thus  there  resulted 
Church,  State,  and  King. 

Long-forgotten  bits  of  reading  —  faint  recollections 
of  Draper,  of  Harrison,  of  Winwood  Reade  —  came  to 

[389] 


Retrospect  and  Forecast 

my  mind  as  I  looked  out  from  an  express-train  on  my 
first  visit  to  Egypt.  We  were  going  up  the  Delta,  along 
the  valley  of  the  Nile.  It  was  towards  evening,  and 
the  peasants  were  returning  from  the  fields  to  their 
homes.  Primitively  clad,  they  reminded  one  irre- 
sistibly of  old  Bible  pictures.  You  would  see  what 
was  evidently  a  family  —  father,  mother,  grown  chil- 
dren, and  little  ones,  some  mounted,  some  on  foot,  and 
with  nondescript  collections  of  animals,  all  burden- 
bearing.  In  one  group  I  noted  a  camel,  several  asses, 
a  buffalo  bull,  and  a  herd  of  sheep  placidly  pursuing 
their  homeward  way,  all  the  animals  except  the  sheep 
bearing  the  fodder  for  their  supper  on  their  backs. 
And  the  mild-eyed  peasants  looked  up  at  the  express- 
train  with  much  the  same  gaze  as  did  their  animals. 


The  Delta  region  is  not  rich  in  visible  ruins.  "  Pom- 
pey's  Pillar"  is  all  that  stands  at  Alexandria,  and  there 
is  nothing  at  Cairo.  The  Pyramids,  which  are  out  in 
the  desert  ten  miles  from  Cairo,  still  stand,  it  is  true, 
but  they  are  so  constructed  that  they  will  continue  to 
stand,  until  removed  stone  by  stone.  There  used  to 
be  an  ancient  city  of  Memphis  not  far  from  Cairo,  but 
it  has  vanished  so  completely  that  doubt  and  dispute 
prevail  over  the  exact  sites  of  its  streets  and  squares. 
The  climate  of  the  Delta  region  differs  markedly  from 
that  of  Upper  Egypt,  and  the  conclusion  is  inevitable 
that  the  difference  of  climate  must  have  much  to  do 
with  the  absence  of  visible  ruins.  For  the  Delta  is  full 

[390] 


Retrospect  and  Forecast 

of  hidden  ruins.  All  through  this  region  there  are  low 
mounds  looking  like  sand-drifts  covered  with  Nile 
mud  from  the  river's  rise.  They  generally  indicate 
the  sites  of  large  cities  and  towns.  Yet  of  these  ancient 
dwelling-places  of  man  there  are  no  "ruins"  left  — 
nothing  but  broken  potsherds  and  a  few  burnt  bricks. 
The  sun-dried  bricks  have  gone  back  to  their  original 
form.  So  have  the  other  contents  of  the  ancient  cities, 
including  their  citizens.  For  each  mound  is  made  of 
a  mass  of  cement  consisting  of  the  Nile  mud  of  count- 
less overflows,  imbedded  in  which  is  the  rich  dust  of 
men  and  animals,  of  temples  and  dwellings.  These 
mounds  are  fertilizer-quarries  for  the  fellah  farmers; 
they  dig  up  their  predecessors,  whom  they  spread  out 
to  enrich  their  fields;  this  fertilizer,  which  they  call 
coujri,  contains  salt,  saltpetre,  soda,  phosphates,  am- 
monia, and  other  constituents  found  in  the  costly  arti- 
ficial chemical  manures  so  much  used  in  the  old  world. 
To  show  how  much  this  soil-enricher  is  used  I  may 
add  that  the  principal  commodity  carried  by  the  net- 
work of  railways  in  the  Delta  region  is  this  coujri  fer- 
tilizer. 

The  utter  disappearance  of  these  ancient  cities  in 
the  Delta  shows  the  effect  of  irrigation  and  cultivation 
on  climate.  But  the  cultivated  area  is  extending  with 
greater  rapidity  than  ever  before.  Less  than  half  a 
century  ago,  Mehemet  Ali  ordered  the  planting  of  vast 
numbers  of  trees  in  Lower  Egypt.  Ismail  continued 
the  policy.  In  forty  years  some  of  these  shade-trees 
have  attained  a  height  of  over  eighty  feet;  among  them 


Retrospect  and  Forecast 

are  eucalyptus,  acacia,  sycamore,  tamarisk,  mulberry, 
and  lebbek.  In  addition  to  the  shade-trees,  the  enor- 
mous extension  of  the  cultivated  area  in  cotton,  sugar- 
cane, and  other  modern  crops,  and  the  thousands  of 
miles  of  new  irrigating  canals  in  addition  to  the  old 
ones,  and  to  the  great  area  covered  by  the  Nile  flood, 
have  aided  to  affect  the  meteorology  of  Egypt.  Cloud- 
less skies  were  common  in  Lower  Egypt  in  Mehemet 
Ali's  time,  so  old  men  tell  us;  now  not  only  clouds  but 
rain-clouds  are  common;  during  the  winter  of  1904-5 
there  were  many  heavy  rain-storms  throughout  the 
Delta  region,  and  for  days  the  sun  did  not  shine  in 
Cairo  and  Alexandria. 

The  lack  of  drainage  is  another  potential  factor  in 
the  climatic  question.  In  nearly  all  dry,  hot  countries 
in  which  irrigation  is  introduced,  surface  or  sub-soil 
drainage  is  found  to  be  necessary.  There  is  no  such 
drainage  in  Egypt,  and  while  the  evaporation  resulting 
from  the  Nile  inundation  doubtless  has  caused  a  gradual 
climatic  modification,  the  enormous  evaporation  now 
resulting  from  the  vast  area  affected  by  both  irrigation 
and  inundation  is  rapidly  changing  the  climate  of  the 
country. 


The  impressions  left  on  the  mind  of  a  casual  traveller 
on  a  first  visit  to  Egypt  differ  much  from  those  left 
when  one  has  had  his  vision  dulled  and  blunted  by 
several  visits.  The  things  which  at  first  seemed  ex- 
traordinary have  then  grown  commonplace,  and  the 

[392] 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


Retrospect  and  Forecast 

old  traveller  to  Egypt  looks  with  a  languid  eye  on  the 
picturesque  processions  which  so  thrilled  him  a  few 
years  before. 

On  a  second  visit,  it  is  generally  the  less  objective 
things  which  occupy  the  traveller's  mind  —  the  social 
and  moral  condition  of  the  people;  how  they  were 
governed  in  past  times  and  are  governed  now;  how 
Occidental  methods,  manners,  machinery,  civil  gov- 
ernment, and  military  occupation  are  affecting  them; 
the  yielding  of  the  Egyptian  ladies  to  foreign  fashions 
in  attire;  the  effect  on  polygamy  of  Paris  prices  for 
women's  gear;  the  propensity  of  the  natives  to  travel 
by  rail  and  tramway;  how  Occidental  teaching  in  the 
mission  schools  is  affecting  the  native  mind  —  these 
and  similar  topics  generally  interest  the  traveller  on 
his  second  visit. 

The  traveller  will  have  seen  the  ruins  on  his  first 
visit,  but  his  view  will  have  been  an  unsatisfactory  one, 
for  they  are  too  numerous,  too  gigantic,  too  impressive, 
to  be  appreciated  fully  at  first.  On  subsequent  visits 
the  traveller  may  become  an  enthusiast  over  the  ruins; 
he  may  develop  into  an  amateur  archaeologist,  perhaps 
even  an  excavator,  if  he  have  the  time  and  means.  Or 
he  may  remain  indifferent  to  the  ruins  —  many  so 
remain.  Or  he  may  be  deeply  impressed  —  not  by 
their  grandeur,  but  by  their  danger,  for  the  ruins  of 
Egypt,  like  all  of  man's  creations,  are  soon  to  pass 
away.  "Soon"  does  not  mean  this  year  or  this  cen- 
tury, but  "soon"  as  measured  by  the  ages  they  have 
stood  there  —  "soon"  as  measured  by  Egyptian  time. 

[393] 


Retrospect  and  Forecast 

Egypt  has  hitherto  been  one  of  the  few  spots  on  the 
planet  where  man's  work  seems  to  have  endured.  What 
is  most  melancholy  in  human  life  is  its  evanescence. 
Of  the  work  of  the  artist,  whether  of  him  who  works  in 
colors,  in  metals,  in  stone,  or  merely  in  words,  the  last, 
which  seems  the  most  fleeting,  often  is  the  most  endur- 
ing. Great  paintings  perish  by  fire,  by  insects,  or  by 
decay.  Great  statues  sink  into  the  ground  or  are 
destroyed  by  vandals.  Great  buildings  fall,  either  by 
the  elements  or  by  the  hand  of  man.  Yet  the  written 
word  often  remains  —  sometimes  the  spoken  word, 
for  Homer's  winged  words,  tradition  says,  were  handed 
down  by  word  of  mouth  for  many  ages  before  they  were 
set  upon  the  page.  Yet  even  of  this  work  of  man,  at 
times,  little  endures.  It  is  only  by  tradition  that  we 
know  of  the  fame  of  Sappho  as  a  poet.  How  much 
will  be  left  of  Shakespeare  in  a  thousand  years  ?  How 
much  of  the  lesser  bards  of  our  own  time  in  a  hundred  ? 

We  are  taught  to  believe  that  the  most  enduring 
work  of  human  hands  is  the  building,  the  edifice,  the 
monument.  Nothing  in  the  elder  time  was  wrought 
with  greater  care  than  the  creation  of  the  mason  —  the 
hall,  the  castle,  the  palace,  the  tower,  the  temple,  the 
tomb.  But  even  these  structures  do  not  endure. 
Nothing  human  can.  Every  creation  of  man,  whether 
it  be  a  mighty  city  or  a  mighty  state,  must,  in  the  long 
procession  of  the  ages,  pass  away.  All  things  human 
are  fleeting.  All  the  works  of  man  are  ephemeral. 
Those  things  builded  by  the  hands  of  men  pass,  as  did 
their  builders.  Great  cities  have  been  born,  have 

[394] 


Retrospect  and  Forecast 

lived,  have  died,  and  men  know  not  where  they  stood. 
To-day  antiquarians  squabble  over  the  sites  of  Car- 
thage and  of  Sidon,  of  Troy  and  of  Tyre. 

Where  now  the  great  buildings  of  London  and 
of  Paris  stand,  some  day  there  will  again  be  lonely 
marshes.  Where  once  the  Grand  Louvetier,  or  Royal 
Wolf  Ward,  guarded  the  Louvre  park  and  its  pavilions, 
there  again  dense  forests  will  come  down  to  the  river's 
bank,  and  out  of  the  wilderness  wolves  will  sally  forth 
to  prowl  once  more  over  the  site  of  what  is  now  the 
palace  of  the  Louvre.  Where  now  the  vast  tides  of 
human  millions  roar  through  London's  Strand  and 
pour  over  Thames's  bridges  there  will  some  day  be 
silence.  Far  down  below  the  foundations  of  the  Tower 
Bridge,  built  but  yesterday,  there  are  Roman  ruins. 
Below  these  Roman  ruins  there  are  the  stilt  foundations 
of  Lacustrine  dwellers  in  the  mud.  Where  New 
York's  stately  structures  of  steel  and  stone  make  arti- 
ficial sky-lines  on  the  backbone  of  Manhattan  Island 

—  where  to-day  is  heard  the  tramp  of  busy  millions 
-  where  Trinity's  chimes  ring  out  above  the  roaring 

of  the  bulls  and  bears  —  where  hoarse  blasts  from 
steamer-whistles  sound  ever  on  the  river  and  the  bay 

—  some  day  there  will  be  no  sound  on  the  land  save 
the  hum  of  insects  and   the  twittering  of  birds;  no 
sound  from  the  water  save  the  plash  of  a  fish  and 
the  lapping  of  the  tide.     Manhattan  Island,   which 
once  was  swamp  and  rock,  will  again  be  rock  and 
swamp. 

Man's  cities,  his  monuments,  his  buildings,  do  not 

[395] 


Retrospect  and  Forecast 

endure.  Out  of  his  handiwork,  tombs  and  temples 
have  melted  into  the  sands  from  which  they  sprung. 
In  Farther  India  one  may  see  stately  temples,  ruins 
that  once  were  temples,  mounds  that  once  were  ruins. 
So  rank  and  luxuriant  is  tropical  vegetation  that  the 
powerful  plants  grasp  at  the  stones  with  roots  and 
boughs,  and  pull  them  from  their  places.  Who  has 
not  seen  a  ruin  in  the  humid  tropics  does  not  know 
what  a  ruin  is. 

If  the  ancient  peoples  who  builded  as  if  for  all  time 
have  left  so  little  trace  behind  them;  if  the  sites  of  such 
cities  as  Carthage  and  Tyre  are  uncertain,  how  little 
will  be  left  of  our  trumpery  modern  cities.  The  stately 
Houses  of  Parliament,  which  make  the  City  of  West- 
minster an  architectural  oasis  in  the  brick-and-mortar 
desert  of  London,  are  already  crumbling,  although 
built  only  half  a  century  ago.  Not  only  is  the  soft 
stone  fast  yielding  to  the  elements,  but  there  have  been 
even  fears  as  to  the  structural  stability  of  the  buildings. 
Parliamentary  commissions  have  worked  upon  the 
problem;  millions  have  been  expended  in  addition  to 
the  initial  millions;  yet  still  the  beautiful  buildings  are 
fast  hastening  to  decay.  All  this  in  less  than  a  hundred 
years.  So  at  Oxford  —  the  stone  in  the  college  build- 
ings is  perishing  so  rapidly  that  many  structures  dating 
from  Tudor  or  Jacobean  times  look  older  than  Egyp- 
tian temples  erected  a  thousand  years  before  Christ 
was  born. 

Hitherto  Egypt  would  seem  to  have  defied  these  laws 
of  ruin,  these  edicts  of  decay.  Although  she  has  not 

[396] 


Retrospect  and  Forecast 

had  that  rank  luxuriant  vegetation  which  In  more 
humid  climes  pulls  down  huge  masses  of  stone,  she,  too, 
has  her  enemies.  She  lies  between  desert  and  ocean, 
a  slender  strip,  and  desert  and  ocean  are  ever  gnawing 
at  her  sides.  But  in  the  face  of  ocean  and  desert  her 
mighty  structures  have  stood.  Where  other  dynasties 
repose  only  on  tradition,  her  haughty  Pharaohs  have 
left  their  bodies  in  colossal  tombs,  their  histories  graven 
on  stone.  Where  other  rulers'  very  names  have  been 
forgotten,  the  Egyptian  monarchs  have  left  their  records, 
their  names,  their  ciphers  for  after  ages  to  read.  For 
forty  centuries  these  gigantic  ruins  have  stood  in  the 
shifting  sands  of  Egypt,  pecked  at  by  Coptic  Christians, 
scratched  at  by  European  Christians,  buried  under  the 
rubbish  of  village  Arabs,  hidden  by  the  kitchen-midden 
of  Bedouins.  Yet  still  have  these  stately  structures 
stood,  defying  decay,  the  work  of  the  elements,  and  the 
vandal  hand  of  modern  man. 

But  not  in  all  of  Egypt.  Where  the  humid  Delta 
begins,  there  begins  also  decay.  Cairo  stands  at  the 
apex  of  the  Delta,  an  ancient  city,  but  with  no 
ancient  monuments.  A  city  stood  there  when  history 
began;  there  was  another  city  when  Christ  was  born; 
there  was  a  new  Cairo  when  Mohammed  uplifted  the 
crescent  against  the  cross.  In  truth,  Cairo  can  scarcely 
be  called  "an  ancient  city,"  but  rather  a  succession  of 
cities.  Probably  there  is  nothing  in  it  dating  back  of 
the  middle  ages,  and  its  oldest  monument  is  Saladin's 
citadel. 

So  with  the  city  near  the  ancient  Canopic  mouth  of 

[397] 


Retrospect  and  Forecast 

the  Nile.  Under  the  modern  Alexandria  lies  the  Alex- 
andria of  Alexander;  for  the  modern  city  is  but  a  mush- 
room of  yesterday.  What  remains  of  the  ancient  city? 
Nothing  but  its  name.  Of  the  magnificent  temple  of 
Serapis,  of  the  Cesareum,  of  the  four  thousand  palaces 
of  which  contemporaneous  historians  wrote,  what  now 
remains  ?  Nothing  —  not  even  their  ruins  —  not  even 
their  foundations,  for  no  man  knows  where  they  stood. 
Excavations  reveal  nothing.  Even  boring  shows  no 
sign  of  the  ancient  city;  it  shows  only  rubbish, 
and  underlying  the  rubbish  it  shows  subterranean 
water. 

Some  archaeologists  explain  the  utter  absence  of 
any  vestige  of  the  palaces  and  temples  of  ancient 
Alexandria  by  the  subsidence  of  the  sandy  soil,  and 
the  encroachment  of  the  Mediterranean.  Others  hold 
that  the  humid  climate  of  the  Delta  has  wrought  the 
usual  ruin  found  in  all  humid  lands;  that  had  Alexan- 
dria possessed  the  rainless  winter  and  the  dry  atmos- 
phere of  Upper  Egypt,  many  of  her  ancient  monuments 
would  still  be  standing. 

However  that  may  be,  there  is  no  trace  left  of  ancient 
Alexandria,  save  its  name.  Perhaps  not  even  its  site 
is  certain,  for  archaeologists  are  not  agreed  that  the 
ancient  city  lay  on  the  same  spot  as  modern  Alexandria. 
A  little  Greek  fishing  village  was  selected  by  Alexander 
as  the  site  of  his  city  —  a  village  called  Rhacotis. 
Tradition  points  out  a  certain  spot  on  the  Alexandrian 
quays  where  Rhacotis  lies  buried.  It  may  or  may  not 
be  true.  If  the  tradition  be  true,  the  little  fishing  vil- 

[398] 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


Retrospect  and  Forecast 

lage  has  left  fully  as  much  to  after  ages  as  did  the 
mighty  city  —  nothing  but  its  name. 

Thus,  when  it  has  seemed  as  if  Egypt  were  an  excep- 
tion to  the  universal,  the  melancholy  rule  of  the  eva- 
nescence of  human  things,  it  was  only  a  seeming.  Again 
is  modern  man  engaged  in  tearing  down  what  ancient 
man  had  built.  So  massive  are  the  ruins  of  Egypt  that 
man  has  as  yet  been  unable  to  accomplish  this  task  of 
destruction  with  the  work  of  his  puny  hands.  For 
ages  he  has  used  the  ruins  for  quarries,  but  still  they 
stand.  Even  what  he  is  doing  is  unconscious,  for  he 
is  laboring  in  other  ways.  Now  as  always  it  is  nature 
which  is  working,  with  man  as  her  medium.  The 
gigantic  Egyptian  ruins  which  have  defied  man  for  so 
many  centuries  will  at  last  yield  to  the  elemental 
forces  of  nature,  those  forces  set  loose  by  man.  The 
colossal  irrigation  system  due  to  modern  engineering  is 
already  changing  the  climate  of  the  lower  Nile.  Where 
once  the  climate  in  Lower  Egypt  was  hot  and  dry  it  is 
now  hot  and  humid.  Where  once  rain  was  almost 
unknown,  now  it  falls  heavily  through  the  winter. 
Violent  alterations  of  temperature  are  now  quite  fre- 
quent throughout  the  region  of  the  Delta.  This 
climatic  change  is  slowly  creeping  up  the  great  river. 
Many  hundred  miles  above  the  Delta,  where  once  rain 
never  fell,  where  from  century  to  century  no  drop  of 
water  dampened  the  parched  bosom  of  the  desert,  now 
light  showers  are  not  unknown.  As  the  land  grows 
moister,  showers  will  become  more  frequent.  As  it  is 
turned  into  a  garden,  rain  will  fall  plentifully,  as  in 

[399] 


Retrospect  and  Forecast 

other  humid  lands.  The  rapid  destruction  of  ruins  — 
as  is  happening  at  Philae  by  the  construction  of  the 
great  dam  —  is  a  mere  incident.  That  is  as  nothing 
compared  with  what  will  occur  when  the  climatic 
changes  caused  by  irrigation  will  bring  about  a  regular 
rain-fall.  Then  the  great  ruins  will  be  subject  to  the 
same  climatic  cataclysms  as  in  other  lands.  Then 
the  sharply  chiselled  edges  of  the  royal  cartouches,  the 
dynastic  histories  on  tomb  and  temple  and  obelisk, 
will  be  dulled,  crumbled,  and  finally  obliterated.  And 
at  last,  yielding  to  the  same  causes  as  in  other  lands, 
tomb  and  temple  and  obelisk  will  fall. 


[400] 


INDEX 


Abbas  II.,  379. 

Achmed,  355. 

Abdul  Hamid,  Sultan,  119,  170. 

Achmet  Mohammed,  257. 

Acropolis,  the,  78,  81,  83,  91. 

Agnano,  23. 

Alexander,  Tomb  of,  104. 

Alexandria,  398;  riot  in,  372,  381. 

AH,  Mehemet,  391. 

AH  Yusef,  322. 

Amphitheatres,  23. 

Anglo-Turkish  Convention,  378. 

Araby,  Achmed,  370,  381. 

Areopagus,  84. 

Army  of  Occupation,  374,  376, 

378. 

Ashkenazim,  239. 
Assiout,  308,  387. 
Assouan,  323,  378,  383,  387. 
Athens,  77,  80,  81;  mountebanks 

in,  94;  money  of,  96. 

Baia,  29,  41. 

Baker,  Valentine,  376,  379. 

Baring,  Major  Evelyn,  365,  368. 

Beaconsfield,  Lord,  364. 

Bernhardt,  Sarah,  114. 

Bethesda,  Pool  of,  174. 

Bethlehem,  231. 

Biarritz,  277. 

Bismarck,  368. 

Bonaparte,  68. 

Bosphorus,  100. 

Cairo,  257,  397. 
Calvary,  Gordon's,  197. 
Capitulations,  295. 
Capua,  41. 


Caravansary,  Famous,  264. 

Castile  soap,  146. 

Cataract,  First,  323,  333. 

Cave,  Mr.,  365. 

Chapel  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre, 

200;  of  St.  Helena,  200. 
Chiaia,  the,  21. 
Choo-Choo  Charley,  37. 
Christians    in    Jerusalem,    175, 

216,  233. 
Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre, 

175;   of  the   Finding   of   the 

Cross,  20 1. 

Churchill,  Randolph,  380. 
Citadel,  the,  Jerusalem,  172. 
Commission  of  Inquiry,  366;  of 

Liquidation,  369. 
Commissioners    of    the    Public 

Debt,  365. 
Constantinople,   101,   261;  dogs 

of,  109;  amusements  in,  114. 
Control,  the  Dual,  368,  381. 
Controllers,  Permanent,  365. 
Convention  of  1899,  380. 
Countess  of  Pierrefonds,  279. 
Cromer,  Lord,  365,  379. 
Cumae,  41. 

Dardanelles,  the,  99. 

Davis,  Theodore  M.,  315. 

Dead  Sea,  232. 

Debt,  Public,  Commissioners  of 

the,  365. 

Delta,  the,  387,  390. 
Derby,  Lord,  366. 
Digma,  Osman,  376. 
Dikearkia,  41. 
Dome  of  the  Rock,  202. 


[40l] 


Index 


Dual  Control,  the,  368,  381. 
Dufferin,  Lord,  374. 

"Echelles  du  Levant,"  7. 

Edfu,  322. 

Egypt,  newspapers  of,  285;  gov- 
ernment of,  295;  climate  of, 
301,  358;  Upper,  313;  excava- 
tions in,  314;  foreigners  in, 
343;  England  in,  363,  383; 
France  in,  365;  Germany  in, 
367;  agriculture  in,  387. 

El-Azhar,  University  of,  285. 

Elephantine,  city  of,  332;  Island, 

324,  332. 

El-Teb,  Battle  of,  376. 
England  in  Egypt,  363,  383. 
Ephesus,  142. 
Erechtheion,  87. 
Eriha,  232. 

Eugenie,  ex-Empress,  275. 
European   powers  in   Palestine, 

237- 

Famous  Caravansary,  264. 

Fashoda,  380,  381. 

Fire,  Holy,  200. 

First  Cataract,  323,  333. 

Floriana,  67. 

Floriane,  Pietro  Paulo,  67. 

Fort,  of  St.  Elmo,  62;  Ricasoli, 

62;  Manoel,  62. 
Fothergill,  Dr.  J.  Minor,  225. 
France  in  the  Orient,  235,  237; 

in  Egypt,  365. 
Funicular    railway    on    Mount 

Vesuvius,  42,  47, 
Fuorigrotta,  22. 

Gabriel,  183. 

Galata,   101,   107,   112;   bridge, 

261. 
Germany  in  Palestine,  237;  in 

Egypt,  367- 
Ghezireh  Hotel,  276. 
Gibraltar,  67. 

Gladstone,  Mr.,  371,  374,  377. 
Golden  Horn,  the,  102;  bridge 

across,  132. 


Gordon,  General,  197,  282,  307, 

374,  376,  381,  382. 
"Gordon's  Calvary,"  197. 

Halikalis,  288. 

Halucca,  the,  240. 

Hamid,  Abdul,  119,  170. 

Harem-esh-Sherif,  202. 

Hassan,  Mohammed,  338. 

Hatasu,  Queen,  311. 

Herculaneum,  34,  41. 

Herod's  palace,  172. 

Hicks  Pasha,  375. 

Hill  of  Mars,  84. 

"Holy  Fire,"  200. 

Holy  Sepulchre,  Church  of  the, 

175;  Chapel  of  the,  200. 
Horn,  Golden,  the,  102;  bridge 

across,  132. 

Inquiry,  Commission  of,  365. 

International  Egyptian  Tribu- 
nals, 365,  367,  368. 

Island  of  Philae,  324. 

Ismail,  275,  364,  381,  391. 

Italian  map,  24;  stone  walls,  25; 
roads,  25;  beggars,  30;  boy,  53. 

Jaffa,  153,  244;  Gate,  170. 
Jaffa   and    Jerusalem    Railway, 

!55- 

Jerusalem,  153,  165,  187,  209; 
Franciscan  school  in,  190; 
streets  of,  199;  sects  in,  170, 
175,  209,  216;  Jaffa  and,  Rail- 
way, 155. 

"Jerusalem  Hotel,"  155. 

Jews  in  the  Holy  Land,  239. 

Jordan,  water  from  the,  215; 
Valley  of  the,  232. 

Karnak,  308. 

Khalifa,  the,  378. 

Khartoum,  307,  377,  379,  381, 

382. 
Khedive,  275,  286,  364,  370,  378, 

379- 
Kings,  Tombs  of  the,  311,  315. 


[402] 


Index 


Kitchener,  Lord,  324,  379,  380, 

381. 

Knights  of  Malta,  69. 
Kom  Ombos,  Temples  of,  323. 

Lacrimae  Cristi  wine,  41. 

Levant,  the,  3,  5. 

Levantine  lines,  8,  253;  crews  on, 

10;  passengers  on,  n,  253. 
Liquidation,  Commission  of,  369, 

374- 
Luxor,  308,  314. 

Mahdi,  the,  374,  377,  381. 
Malta,  61,  64,  66,  67,  72,  73; 

Knights  of,  69. 
Manoel,  Fort,  62. 
Marchand,  Major,  380. 
Maronites,  235. 
Mars,  Hill  of,  84. 
Maspero,  Professor,  315. 
Mehemet  AH,  391. 
Mohammed,  Achmet,  257. 
Mohammed  Hassan,  338. 
Montefiore,  Sir  Moses,  167. 
Mosque  of  Omar,  202. 
Mount  Moriah,  202. 

Naples,  1 6;  reform  movement  in, 
17;  changes  in,  17;  hotels  of, 
21 ;  villas  of,  27. 

Napoleon,  68. 

Neapolis,  41. 

Nike,  Temple  of,  85. 

Nikita,  Prince,  230. 

Nile,  the,  305,  321. 

Nubar  Pasha,  366,  378. 

Occupation,  Army  of,  374,  376, 

378. 

Octroi  barrier,  33. 
Old  Seraglio,  103. 
Omar,  Mosque  of,  202. 
Omdunnann,  379. 

Palaeopolis,  41. 

Palestine,  226,  soil  of,  157; 
Russia  in,  166,  237;  piety, 


209;  quarantine  in,  224;  Prot- 
estants in,  236;  Germany  in, 
237;  European  powers  in,  237. 

Parthenon,  85. 

Parthenope,  41. 

Pera,  101,  104,  107,  112. 

Permanent  Controllers,  365. 

Philae,  400;  Island  of,  324. 

Philippines,  United  States  in,  382. 

Piedigrotta  tunnels,  22. 

Pierrefonds,  Countess  of,  279. 

Pompeii,  35,  40,  41. 

Pool  of  Bethesda,  174. 

Port  Said,  256. 

Posilippo  drive,  22,  27. 

Pozzuoli,  41. 

Propylaea,  85. 

Protestants  in  Palestine,  236. 

Public  Debt,  Commissioners  of 
the,  365. 

Puteoli,  41. 

Railway,  funicular,  on  Mount 
Vesuvius,  42,  47;  from  Jaffa 
to  Jerusalem,  155. 

Redcliffe,  Lord  Stratford  de,  113. 

Resina,  32,  40,  41;  guides  of,  48, 

5i- 

Rhacotis,  398. 
Ricasoli,  Fort,  62. 
Roberts  College,  161,  236. 
Rock,  Dome  of  the,  202. 
Rothschild,  364. 
Russia  in  Palestine,  166,  237. 

Sakia,  331,  332. 

Salisbury,  377,  378. 

"Santa  Lucia,"  16,  46,  47. 

Saredo,  Senator,  17. 

Scutari,  101. 

Sects   in    Jerusalem,    170,    175, 

209,  216,  233,  239. 
Selamlik,  121;  troops  at,  125. 
Sephardim,  239. 
Seraglio,  Old,  103. 
Seymour,  Admiral,  373. 
Shadouf,  331. 
Sir  Rudolph  Von  Slatin  Pasha, 

280. 


[403] 


Index 


Smyrna,  141;  bazaars  of,  143. 

Solomon,  Temple  of,  202. 

Soudan,  the,  374,  380. 

"Spots  Where,"  195,  204. 

St.  Elmo,  Fort  of,  62. 

Stabiae,  41. 

Stamboul,  101,  104,  107,  261. 

Stratford,  Lord,  113. 

Suessola,  41. 

Suez  Canal,  364,  373. 

Sultan  Abdul  Hamid,  119;  170. 

Sweet  waters,  105,  no. 

Syrian  coast,  154,  224. 

Tel  el-Kebir,  Battle  of,  373. 
Temple  of  Nike,  85;  of  Solomon, 

202;  Square,  172;  Enclosure, 

202. 

Tewfik,  368. 
Thebes,  plain  of,  314. 
Toledo,  the,  19. 
Times,  London,  223. 


"Tomb  of  Alexander,"  104. 

Tombs  of  the  Kings,  311,  315. 

Tourist  agencies,  45. 

Town-Dweller,  The,  225. 

Tribunals,  International  Egyp- 
tian, 365,  367,  368. 

Turkish  money,  242;  post-offices, 
243- 

University  of  El-Azhar,  285. 
Uriel,  186. 

Valetta,  61,  65,  67,  72. 
Vesuvius,  39,  41;  funicular  rail- 
way on,  42,  47;  crater  of,  50. 

Water  from  the  Jordan,  215. 
Wilson,  Mr.  Rivers,  366. 
Wolsely,  Lord,  377. 

Yildez,  119. 
Yusef,  AH,  322. 


[404] 


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